


Out of Touch

by MyrJuhl



Series: Out of Touch [1]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil
Genre: Adult Content, Angst, Bottoming, Consent, Crimes & Criminals, Discriminatory Language, Domestic, Drama, Falling In Love, Family, Feelings, GSA syndrome, Hurt/Comfort, Incest, Kissing, Language, Loss, M/M, Manipulation, Minor Character Death, Minor character implied/referenced rape/non-con, Misunderstandings, Modern Setting, Non-Consensual, None graphic highly dubious Murder, Panic, Possessive Behaviour, Profanity, Protectiveness, Secrets, Self-Defence, Slow Build, Smut, Suspense, Teasing, Tension, Topping, Trauma, Violence, Weapons, dub-con, implied asphyxiation, implied threesome, light kink, prison fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-07
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:40:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 25,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24588487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyrJuhl/pseuds/MyrJuhl
Summary: When Grantaire’s released from prison on parole, his plan is getting in touch with his connections and back in business as soon as possible. He would play nice at the parole office once a month, in between business to pick up and people to get even at.What Grantaire hasn’t anticipated is seeing his younger half brother waiting in the parking lot. They’d barely been in contact in the years passing, while Grantaire did his time and even before that due to his criminal history. When Grantaire realises what his brother’s plans for picking him up entrail, it’s too late, and he’s forced to address the past history between them.
Relationships: Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables), Grantaire/Jean Valjean|Madeleine
Series: Out of Touch [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1777354
Comments: 8
Kudos: 27





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** These events never happened. This fic is for entertainment purposes only, not profit. I, the author, make no claim through this work as to the fictitious characters/ actual lives/ preferences/ activities of the people mentioned herein.

At Saint Corinth Prison, August 1st 

At 1pm

“See you later, cunt,” Grantaire told his cell mate.

“Yeah, you fucking fucked up fuck. Break a leg, all right?” 

Bumping their fists, Grantaire then left his cell and headed in the direction of genpop.

“Hey? Hey, Grantaire!” A sleazebag not belonging to his posse approached him. “Hey, can you get me some tape?”

Thrown for a moment, Grantaire stopped to inquire, “You got five seconds, mate. What kind of fucking tape? Old tape recording tape, nasty bondage Gaffer tape with giraffes on? Be specific.”

“No. You know? Measuring tape.”

“No, I didn’t know, but now I do. And no, I can’t get you any fucking _measuring_ tape right now, Montparnasse,” Grantaire said; annoyed to be interrupted when he had urgent places to be. “Ask me again tomorrow.”

“Hey, mate? Why are you in such a hurry anyway?”

Slowly, Grantaire turned and came back to stare at the sycophantic inmate. “Is that any of your fucking business?” he asked and jabbed his thumb into the bloke’s chest.

“No... of course not.” Montparnasse smiled with that grating fake humbleness of his, and Grantaire shook his head disgusted. Even though he belonged to the same category, Grantaire hated this place and its opportunistic people so fucking much, but he just happened to be on his way to his third parole meeting with the board. Optimistically? This time they could rule in his favour. Pessimistically? Probably not gonna happen.

“Hey, you know? I was wondering if you’ve thought more about me becoming your cell mate instead of Listolier?” Montparnasse called out. “It would be worth your while...”

“No,” was Grantaire’s short answer and moved on to meet up with the Warden.

“Good morning, Grantaire,” the Warden greeted him already waiting at the other side of the barred door to Barrack D. 

“’morning, boss,” Grantaire said and gave him his trademark smirk. “You know anything?” he asked to make conversation.

“No. Nobody tells me anything,” the Warden replied jovially and signalled the operator in the small control office to open the door for Grantaire.

A screw quickly searched him before putting Grantaire in handcuffs, but found only the letter he’d prepared for his speech to the panel. The rest of the trip to the local where the meeting was to be conducted took less than a few minutes.

“Let’s get this over with,” Grantaire murmured lowly, as he steeled himself for yet another rejection. His case manager had only known about Grantaire’s eligibility for parole less than forty-eight hours ago. This was literally a sudden decision and gave them little time to prepare. Well, Grantaire didn’t have much further to add at this point, so to him it didn’t matter much.

He was searched by the screw one more time as security demanded. After he was guided into the room the handcuffs came off. Grantaire sat down in the chair in front of the three people gathered to decide his further destiny in life. 

The parole panel wasn’t the same as last time, but new people usually made no difference. Grantaire assumed they’d already made up their mind anyway; they just needed to size him up or down to confirm their decision in case he surprised them. Pulling out his prepared letter from his pocket, Grantaire handed it to the Warden when he came over to bring it to the panel. Then the Warden went to lean against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. He watched in silence. He always did. Grantaire found comfort in that. The Warden cared enough at some level to witness how these meetings went.

As usual, Grantaire’s parole letter was written respectfully and formally. He had been advised right from the first parole hearing by his former case manager to never make light of the seriousness of his offense or present it in a defensive way. For what it was worth, Grantaire never thought his trial had been unfair or unjust at all, so not deluding to that fact was never a dilemma. He didn’t blame anyone else for his actions or accused others of his wrongful behaviour. He knew what he did was wrong and could have hurt other people.

The goal of the parole letter was to definitively accept responsibility for past events, while at the same time build a strong case for his success in life outside of prison. Grantaire knew the words by heart. He’d written the same kind of crap at every hearing. In his letter today, however, he actually meant it. He really did want to get away from these losers so perhaps the superlatives were more honest this time around.

“How do you feel about the crime you’ve committed?” one of the panel members asked after having read the letter. The standard prefatory question every time.

“I regret having done what I did. Spending so much time here has made me realise it wasn’t worth it putting people’s lives in danger,” Grantaire said and kipped his chin upwards in defiance. He had to take care not to growl out his frustration. Just the thought of being rejected... he could hardly handle the disappointment again and knew it would turn ugly in the days to come - if that was their judgement.

“What are your plans for an eventual parole Mr. Grantaire?”

“My... case manager and I have discussed a few options that I’m very interested in and hope to be able to carry out. I have two job opportunities with a guarantee for work. I just have to decide which to pick.”

“That’s good,” one of the others replied.

Grantaire’s eyes flickered across each of the three of them and sensed a change in the room; something close to feeling positive. He tried to smile, but found his cheeks were shaking from nerves, so he didn’t. He might look like a crazy person instead of someone trying to convince them he had his shit together.

More questions were asked and Grantaire answered, but couldn’t remember what he’d said the second after.

Suddenly, the meeting was over, and his parole papers were stamped harshly. The woman sitting in the middle looked up at Grantaire’s startled face. “Congratulations. Best of luck. There are rules to be followed, Mr. Grantaire. You are obliged to seek advice from your case manager to make sure you understand what is expected of you once you leave this prison,” she said, before gathering her papers and putting them in her briefcase.

“O-of course. Thank you?” Grantaire said unsure and darted a look at the Warden who smiled at him.

“Looks like you made it, Grantaire.”

Grantaire finally smiled as relief flooded his veins. “Thank you.”

“Don't fuck it up.”

“Yeah, yeah. Of course not.”

The Warden stepped closer and looked at Grantaire earnestly.

“What?” Grantaire asked as he tried to collect his cool. The expression on the Warden’s face made him postpone his attitude for now.

“You’re out in three days.”

Grantaire narrowed his eyes with peaked interest. “That’s sudden...”

“I know. And it’s on purpose.”

“Why?” Grantaire asked on guard.

“Grantaire... you know perfectly well that people are going to fight for your lucrative trade business. It’s highly possible you could be in danger.”

Looking around the room, Grantaire found that it was now empty save for now three screws to take him back to genpop. 

The stakes were more dangerous, and Grantaire didn’t have a smart remark to that other than yes; it was what could be expected. The other times he’d been up for parole, his status had been challenged, but since he hadn’t been granted parole those times, he managed to chase off those stupid enough to try. Grantaire was somebody with control, means, and sitting on the connections to provide goods other people wanted. So of course he had to use shady ways to maintain his influence occasionally. It was a simple question of survival of the fittest. He did this gladly which also meant that nobody tried to make him their prag. Those who had, assured themselves a trip to the infirmary, a few were even found dead in blind spots, where the security cameras couldn’t reach. 

Grantaire had become an expert in using weaker people to do his dirty work to make sure no fingers could ever be pointed back at him. The poor suckers who gladly did this for him were always set up in another none related matter designed to also have them end up being found in a sorry state. It was scary at first how fast Grantaire became unaffected orchestrating this, but not anymore. 

Hard core prison life was like fiction. Hurting bad people was like a videogame. There was always plenty more where they came from.

So did Grantaire have a sex life inside prison since prag practise was out of the question? But of course. He and the Warden had been very discrete with their ‘no feelings attached’ affair. After all, the Warden was a married man and fragile to extortion if it ever got out what he and Grantaire did during their weekly meetings in his office. Hastily exchanged blowjobs and spectacular fucks bent over the Warden’s sturdy desk crossed Grantaire’s mind. The morality of how wrong that was, Grantaire didn’t give a fuck about. That the Warden could have said no came to mind but that was moot, when in reality he was the one who had approached Grantaire.

Now that Grantaire had been paroled for real, the threat to his position was also real and instant. The Warden was right; people would be frothing around the mouth to get their hands on his business. They could be so eager that Grantaire wouldn’t make it out of prison alive even if he had help from his closest lieutenants. The competition might even come from the exact same people. If he lost control of his business, his life was worthless. Inmates smelled that sort of thing from a long distance. 

“Um... Warden?” he asked.

“What is it?”

“Could you maybe... put me in protection until it’s time?”

“That can be arranged. I don't think we can prevent a hostile reaction in genpop, but at least you won’t be in the middle of it.”

 _Riots are your problem..._ Grantaire thought briefly, but he asked instead, “And my case manager?”

“She’ll conduct your meeting in your cell. I’ll contact her today. Do you have anyone to pick you up?”

“I don't have anyone interested in picking me up, no,” Grantaire said with a nonchalant shrug. 

The Warden cocked his head slightly as if he didn't quite believe that.

“But I do need to sort out my cell,” Grantaire then added. “So a detour there first... with protection?” His eyes slid towards the screws.

“Uhu. I’ll have a box brought to you,” was all the Warden had to say to that request. 

Grantaire just nodded his thanks before the screws escorted him back to his cell. Immediately, Grantaire sorted his things into stacks of bringing along or discarding, so when the box the Warden had promised arrived, he dropped his stuff in it.

“Planning a holiday?” Listolier asked showing up at the entrance.

“Looks like it,” Grantaire smirked and they fist bumped each other.

“I guess congrats are in order?”

“Shhh...” Grantaire said but still smiled.

“I never thought I’d say this, but I am going to miss your sorry arse.”

“Oh, baby. All you had to do was ask,” Grantaire joked. “If you want any of my crap, now would be a good time,” he advised Listolier, nodding towards his bunk.

Listolier went and riffled through the leftover stuff and grabbed a handful of drawings. “Can I take these?”

“Sure,” Grantaire said indifferently. He could make more in no time.

“Make sure I get a decent cellie after ya, yeh? I’d hate to do extra time if that cunt Montparnasse thinks he can squeeze his scrawny arse in here,” Listolier said.

“I’ll make sure of it,” Grantaire promised. Nobody wanted Montparnasse as a cellie. The tiresome individual was actually quite pretty, an obvious target to become someone’s prag but so slippery he had the opposite effect on people. If you let him in, he stuck to you like Velcro. 

Good news spread fast, and Grantaire’s short return to genpop had Montparnasse come to lurk by his cell, too.

“Grantaire?” he inquired.

“Not now. Get lost,” Grantaire hissed at him.

The other inmate sent the screws annoyed looks; they looked back at him just as indifferently.

“I really gotta talk to you.”

“Tomorrow, Montparnasse. I already told ya,” Grantaire said as he secured the box on his arms and was yet again escorted off.

“Are you changing your cell?” Montparnasse called out.

“Yep. Warden’s orders. Take what you want in there,” Grantaire said.

People developed a heightened hearing sense in prison and he smirked at the sound of the flurry of shoes that set into motion to get to his remaining shit. Montparnasse probably didn’t even stand a chance at getting any of it.

“Was that really necessary, Grantaire?” one of the screws asked.

Grantaire just smirked. Oh, hell yes. That would keep their attention away from Grantaire while that lasted. 

~• ɷ͋ •~

At Saint Corinth Prison, August 4th 

At 13.00 pm

His case manager didn’t show up at all. Instead on the last day of Grantaire’s self-isolation his new parole officer came by in the afternoon. 

“Good morning, Mr. Grantaire. I’m your appointed parole officer,” a bespectacled suit clad man with a cheap haircut greeted him and put his briefcase on the chair that had been provided for him, ready for business.

Grantaire sat down on his bunk apprehensively. Why was he here and not in his cosy office in London slobbering coffee? Still, parole officers were not people you pissed off. He needed him more than the officer needed Grantaire. “Hey. What have you got for me?”

“Guidelines, Mr. Grantaire.” The man cracked gum between unrealistically white teeth.

“I know them already,” Grantaire replied, already feeling the chemistry between them going sour.

“It doesn’t hurt to go through them again; besides it is the law. We don’t need a misconduct lawsuit for not informing you of your rights, right?”

His condescending tone was already jarring on Grantaire’s patience. _Fucking dick head. I bet you don’t need a misconduct. And you betcha I would hook my claws in your wallet if you failed me,_ Grantaire thought glumly. 

“Are you paying attention, Mr. Grantaire?” the officer asked, as he snapped his fingers.

Mentally Grantaire gritted his teeth. This guy... Wow. What was it Stephen Rea said in ‘The Crying Game’? Oh, yeah. _“How would you like to pick up your teeth with your broken fingers?”_

“We need you out of prison - not back in, yes?” Suit Guy added.

Grantaire zoned back from his little violent daydream. “No... I mean yes, whatever. Been distracted after sitting here waiting for three bloody days,” he needled the man, because he couldn’t help himself.

“All right. When you leave Saint Corinth, you can check into the small hotel on Pickford Road in London. The manager will show you how things are run, yes? You’ll rapport to us tomorrow already in our office in London at 10AM. Here’s my card and phone number...” The parole officer reached out and Grantaire took the card. “We’ll discuss your options. Work, education, and other practical matters. From then on you’ll rapport once a week for the remains of your sentence which is thirteen months - with a squeaky clean urine test and hand over £50 monthly; preferably in cash. That is part of the costs to supervise a parolee and is not negotiable. However, you’re free to contact a lawyer if you think you’re eligible to be relieved to pay the fee.” 

Grantaire looked at the bloke, still wanting to do so many bad violent things to his stupid stubbled neck. But it was true; he had to pay for the costs to let... Grantaire looked at the name on the tiny cardboard square in his hand _Combeferre Group Ltd_... Mr. Combeferre manage his parole. Options right... Grantaire dropped the card on the mattress. Had the desk jockey even looked at Grantaire’s achievements before showing up? Grantaire had already gotten a college degree while he was inside. And the urine tests would be superfluous. Besides alcohol, he’d never done drugs – only sold them to other losers. But of course he’d oblige. He was not going back to prison. At least he and Combeferre agreed on something there.

And regarding the small hotel, right. Other prisoners who’d failed their parole had talked about, _The Debonair_ when they came back to prison. As far as Grantaire could gather, the cheap hotel resided in East End and, in helping an ex con asserting themselves so soon after getting out; it served as a basic place to start over. Even something that simple could be tough enough for some people just to get out of a daily life inside prison like this. Some simply couldn’t handle the freedom and did another crime just to get back inside to what they were used to. 

The downside to checking in to _The Debonair_ was that the facility was a natural magnet for criminal minds in a major city hungry for action to form new ties, and possibly make them privy to whatever job someone had concocted while doing time. Grantaire was no different. 

He couldn’t show up at his own London flat straight away which had been rented out while he was away. But he had to get in contact with the tenant at some point for a check up. So with no other accommodations arranged right now, Grantaire had planned to check in to _The Debonair_ as well. In the hotel, he would have time to make proper plans in general, and when it would be safe get his hands on the money he’d stashed. Besides the legit job he had waiting for him in a week’s time, he had to touch base with the people who talked him into participating on the job and then backstabbed him. How to get rid of them safely, he had to figure out. Only two people knew where the money was hidden. He had to make sure it stayed that way.

So he needed to get a gun, because the arseholes were probably not letting him kill them easily...

But he got that covered.

And yes, he knew he had to be careful. He might be watched for a long time in case the police thought he’d lead them right to the money. He’d been incarcerated inside Saint Corinth for three years. What was another year where he had to be careful anyway if that’s what it took? 

Mr. Combeferre rounded off their meeting and finally, Grantaire was free to go. He'd gotten his hands on a backpack for his things, and was good to go to leave his cell. 

He was taken directly to the exit room. The very same room where he was stripped of his own things as well as equipped with prison gear three years ago. The officer going through the list of items Grantaire had had on his person finally stamped his note and Grantaire signed his part of it. Then he was allowed to strip off the prison gear and getting dressed in his own clothes.

The jeans fit just barely, but the shirt was a disaster. All his clothes were too tight and smelled stale. Grantaire had spent a lot of time working out and his old clothes were too narrow now for his generous bicep and chest measurements. How ironic. He was going to look ridiculous when he stepped out into the world looking like that. Even though he was the man who procured stuff for other people, he hadn’t thought about getting new clothes for himself when he’d been busy doing nothing in protection.

“Is it possible to get...” he began asking when the officer just held out another shirt.

“For Christ’s sakes. Take this, Grantaire.” Then the screw also handed him some money in a small plastic re-sealable folder. “And here’s your bus fare. Warden’s order.”

“Thanks, boss.” 

Quickly, Grantaire put on the other shirt and it fit him better than his own which he donated to the prison. And then he was ready to be released.

“Just one more thing. You have to wear this. Consider it a parting gift,” the screw said and handed him a security bracelet.

“Why?” Grantaire knew why, but it never hurt getting information. 

“Parole officer’s orders. They don’t really need to have a reason.”

Grantaire wasn’t so sure about that. They weren’t kings, and had to obey the rules themselves.

“Why?” he asked again anyway.

“I believe it’s to ensure you’re not leaving town for... don’t know what kind of business you might have, but don't have it, yeah?” the officer said.

Grantaire wanted to punch his self-righteous smirk so bad. Instead he just licked his front teeth loudly as the bracelet was secured around his wrist. He left the building the second after, swearing under his breath.

“Behave, Grantaire,” the screw guarding the fence said; the phrase overused from the many times whenever an inmate left the prison on parole or for good.

“Yeah. I don’t wanna see your ugly mug any time soon, either,” Grantaire drawled. It’s what the screw expected him to say. It was exactly what Grantaire felt when he said it.

Giving the guard one last nod, Grantaire crossed the fence into freedom. The metallic sound of the enclosure sliding back behind him was immensely satisfying. 

Looking straight ahead he found the bus stop inmates used if they weren’t picked up. It had been the view from his cell from the day he was incarcerated and until now when it was his turn to buy a ticket out of here.

Pulling out his phone, Grantaire knew the battery was flat, but it grounded him. He still had his charger, so as soon as he got the opportunity, he’d be able to get his phone back up and running. He hoped damn well that the people he needed to call hadn’t changed their phone number from that in his address book. But he would deal with that as soon as he could. First of all, he had to be able to contact Combeferre tomorrow. Moreover, he had to locate the hotel. Grantaire dug into his pocket and found the intro letter to _The Debonair_ for their address.

His neck prickled.

Looking up, he felt someone’s eyes on him. Scanning the area for the potential danger he might be in, he immediately noticed a black vehicle in the far back of the parking lot: a Land Rover Defender, last year’s model, gleaming in the summer sunlight. A man stood resting against the car’s passenger side. Setting off the vibe of going for inconspicuous, he wore a cap pulled low as well as sunglasses. Still, Grantaire only needed a split second to recognise him as his younger half brother Enjolras. That didn’t necessarily make him relax yet.

He hadn’t seen his sibling since he left his family to ‘get away’. Back then, Enjolras had just enrolled in college doing great for himself, whereas Grantaire was at a point in his life where he was a disappointment to everyone. Nothing mattered since he had been involved in crime and bad company for a while. With a pang, Grantaire realised that that was his grand plan so far: getting back into his pattern of bad company and decisions. Seeing Enjolras waiting there looking unfairly fit and so together with his expensive car, Grantaire wasn’t sure he wanted to approach him. But Enjolras looked straight at him, so pretending he hadn’t seen him would be bizarre.

When Grantaire approached his brother, Enjolras straightened his posture and nodded in greeting.

“Heeeey. You shouldn't have. I’m just gonna grab the bus,” Grantaire said with a smirk and took a few steps away. 

Enjolras didn’t smile at all. “Get in the car, Grantaire. We have a long ride ahead of us.”

“Excuse me? We?” Grantaire smiled dangerously. “What the hell are you talking about, Enjolras? I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“I’m taking you home.”

Grantaire burst out laughing. His brother had some balls assuming Grantaire was actually going with him. “Uh... that’s great. I’m sure you’re busy with your perfect little hipster life, but I actually have to check into this hotel in...”

“No. You don’t,” Enjolras interrupted with an infuriating assuredness before he went around the Rover and climbed in. He pulled off his cap and put his hands on the steering wheel, as he looked straight ahead out of the windshield.

Grantaire looked towards the prison building, then the bus stop, and finally back at Enjolras. “What... h... fuck it. Okay. For now.” Climbing into the other seat, Grantaire tossed his bag behind him, and put on the seatbelt not risking a ticket as soon as he left the lot.

Enjolras turned on the engine and the sound of the motor was smooth as fuck. 

“Nice wheels, Enjolras,” Grantaire said and couldn't help admiring the dashboard and all its small gadgets.

“Thanks,” Enjolras said.

Suddenly, Grantaire felt a slight vibration from the bracelet. “Couldn't wait a fucking second,” he muttered.

“What?” Enjolras asked.

“My fucking security bracelet was just activated.”

“Did it feel like a taser?” Enjolras asked.

“No...” Grantaire sneered. “Just fucking annoying that I have to wear it.”

“Hm...” was all Enjolras said, and Grantaire just knew he thought it was Grantaire’s own fault – which it totally was – but kudos to him for not actually bringing it up.

Shortly after, they left the premises and headed south which didn’t make any sense, but so far Grantaire was humouring him. After a couple of kilometres of driving, Enjolras suddenly parked the Rover. 

“What are you doing?” Grantaire asked.

“Just need to wipe the license plates clean.”

Grantaire looked curiously as Enjolras picked up a cloth from under his seat and went outside to wipe off the license plates.

Grantaire was so intrigued he almost stepped out, too; just to see what Enjolras was doing.

“Why did you do that?” he asked when Enjolras was back in his seat.

“Maybe I didn't want to be registered for having been in the parking lot,” Enjolras said as he taxied back onto the road.

“That’s why you parked so far away?”

“Yes, Grantaire,” Enjolras responded with a little smile. “Just as an extra precaution.”

“To what?” Grantaire couldn’t help asking, but Enjolras just sent him another little smile as if that was self-explicatory. Well to Grantaire, it felt suspiciously like Enjolras was deliberately involving himself in a crime... somewhere. Grantaire couldn’t point out exactly why yet, but it sounded a bit like Grantaire was the whole point. He didn’t need that. Didn’t want to know why. All he needed was to get through the next many months staying out of the authorities’ and his parole officer’s sight.

As they started putting distance behind them, Grantaire found out that Enjolras didn’t talk as much as he did back when he was a hyper active kid.

Eventually, Grantaire realised that they hadn’t changed direction. “So... where are you taking me? I thought this was just a small trip. I don't see this car blend well in London. Taking me home doesn’t mean taking me further away.”

“We’re not going to London,” Enjolras said.

“Um...” Annoyed by the frankly rude responses from his brother, Grantaire looked back even though that wouldn’t make any difference to the situation he was in. “Yes, we are. Fuck you, you little twat. Like I said I have to _be_ there. There will be consequences for me if I don’t. I have things I need to do tomorrow that...”

“We’re going to the farm,” Enjolras interrupted calmly.

“The farm?” Grantaire asked looking like one big question mark. “Look, mate, you’ve gotta give me more information than that.”

“Grand Wainhopper’s farm.”

Grantaire looked at him like he’d grown horns. “Are you fucking insane? What... why... what is this?”

“It’s pretty simple,” Enjolras said and looked at him for a few moments. “I’m taking you to a place where you can lay low and refuel.”

“Lay low and refuel...” Grantaire smiled incredulous. “You’re fucking naïve, kid,” he chuckled.

“I’m thirty-five, Grantaire. Not a kid,” Enjolras pushed his sunglasses into his hair and cast him a glance so he could tell for himself.

Grantaire hadn’t seen that one coming. Fucking thirty-five? The last time he’d seen Enjolras, the kid had barely been nineteen. Curious he studied his brother’s profile closer. His eyes were electric blue. The hair that made him look like an angel in his youth was still gloriously blond, even though he detected a bit of silver at the temples when reflected by the sun. Grantaire noticed the crow’s feet at the edge of Enjolras’ eyes that underlined that, yes; Enjolras had been a grown up for a very long time. 

“You’d have been fucking popular in prison, Enjolras,” Grantaire blurted before he could stop himself.

Turning his head sharply, Enjolras hissed at him, “Really? You’re such a fucking arsehole, Grantaire.”

Grantaire wasn’t even aware he’d opened that particular can of worms, but that sure riled up his brother, “Sorry... my filters are rusty,” he offered just for good measure.

“Don’t even...” Enjolras’ face was rightfully tight in repressed anger now.

“My bad, Enjolras, all right?”

“ _Fuck_ you!”

“Jesus Christ! Why did you even go to such trouble doing this? You obviously still hate me.”

“Because... Mr. Madeleine called me so we could arrange for me to pick you up from prison today.” Enjolras’ fists grabbed the steering wheel harder, but he didn’t look at Grantaire.

“The Warden...” Grantaire cursed lowly. “Did he ask you to kidnap me, too?”

Enjolras barked out a surprised laughter. “No, he didn’t phrase it like that. Although, he suggested I should sell you to the local clothespin factory as cheap labour, but I declined. The kidnapping part, I figured that out all by myself, Grantaire. It’s something I find irresistible doing in my spare time.”

“Fucking bee’s knees...” Grantaire counted to ten a few times to calm down. He didn't really want to hurt his brother, but man - the kid was pushing his buttons right now. 

Some minutes passed in tense silence.

“And I don’t hate you, all right? Wasn’t entirely your fault and I moved on, eventually,” Enjolras said, being the one to finally break it.

“Whatever, mate,” Grantaire said, but he had to admit it pleased him to know. “How did Madeleine even get your number?”

“I didn't ask, Grantaire. In fact, I told him I refused to have anything to do with you.” Enjolras looked to the left as a car passed them. Both brothers watched suspiciously until the car was out of sight.

“Don’t you think the Warden will gather that you showed up anyway? That it was you in the parking lot?”

“Who knows, Grantaire? Maybe they don’t even have video footage.”

“They do have surveillance.”

“I don’t care. Even if they figure out it was me, I’m registered to a p.o. box in Mainsboroughshire. Not at Wainhopper’s where I actually live. I can’t see how they could possibly locate me... us... there.”

Grantaire nodded slowly. As intriguing as the whiff of espionage seemed to permeate all over Enjolras’ motives, Grantaire still couldn't figure out why Enjolras would go to such lengths for him. In the real world, Enjolras should have continued to stay as far away from Grantaire as he could. Why would he even want to insist on having him back in his life? It caused for wonder what exactly Enjolras and the Warden had really talked about. 

“What is your grand plan about my parole? It’s pretty important,” he asked to try and get more information.

“What about it?”

“Don’t give me the ‘I’m dumb’ crap look. I need to show up tomorrow,” Grantaire elaborated exasperated.

“Don’t you get that it’s not happening? But don’t worry about it.”

“Of course I worry, fucktard! I’m not exactly thrilled to go back to prison because you have issues!”

“Don’t fucking call me that. I’m not stupid. However, it’s very simple because you’re not going back to that lifestyle.”

“Bloody awesome...” Grantaire laughed incredulous. Then he narrowed his eyes wondering why he was still sitting in this seat, why Enjolras wasn’t knocked unconscious yet, and why Grantaire wasn’t the one sitting behind the wheel heading back where they came from. Apparently, his patience reached further when he was dealing with family. Still, he’d better try and get further information out of his kid brother, “Who else is there? I can barely remember anything from that farm. Grand is dead, so...?”

“The farmland is leased, but we have acres enough for our own produce.”

“Our?”

“I’ve been a farmer for about four years now since I graduated.”

“Farmer? What did you study?”

“Ballet.”

“The fuck...? What?” Grantaire asked surprised.

“Not ballet, for Christ sakes. Agriculture. And before that social studies... and law.”

“Huh... Why did you change major?”

“I didn’t. I graduated them all.”

“You...” Reeling from the surprise of what Enjolras had achieved so far, Grantaire continued after a moment, “Sure... so... but why agriculture?”

“Because I inherited the farm from Granddad Wainhopper after Grand died...” Enjolras said clipped.

“Shouldn’t your mum inherit that?”

“Yeah... but it’s kind of difficult when she’s dead, Grantaire,” Enjolras said icily as he looked at Grantaire for a moment.

“Bugger... sorry. Didn’t know.”

“How could you since you were impossible to keep in touch with? And also if you had been, I wouldn’t have told you anything that you could pass on to a third person.”

“Uhu...” Grantaire almost felt insulted.

“I’m sure you don’t have a habit of entertaining people about your private life either, but I couldn’t take the risk,” Enjolras explained.

“I get it. No biggie,” Grantaire said and smiled dangerously. 

Enjolras just snorted unimpressed. Had it been anybody else but his brother, Grantaire would have punched their nose into their bloody brains.

“Can I charge my phone on your dash?” he asked.

“Sure,” Enjolras said and then he leaned over, to turn on some music and it suited Grantaire just fine. He didn't need more bickering with his brother for a while.

After fiddling with his charger, he managed to connect the device to the outlet on Enjolras’ dashboard, and to his relief the phone still responded but kind of drizzled off when it hit 15%. Well, he’d just have to finish charging when they got to Wainhopper’s farm. Or rather, Enjolras’ farm.

~• ɷ͋ •~


	2. Chapter 2

~• ɷ͋ •~

At Wainhopper’s Farm August 4th 

At 2.30 pm

After they’d driven for a couple of hours, the area began to seem familiar. It had been years since Grantaire had been there. They hadn’t been his grandparents, after all. The brothers shared their blood through their deceased father. Enjolras had seemed close to the old people. Grantaire barely recalled what they’d looked like. The affection must have been mutual since the farm was handed over to his brother after his grandmother passed away.

The strangeness of the day crossed his mind once more. Why did Enjolras insist on taking him away? Why did he suddenly care after all these years? He’d have to spin the possibilities when they arrived. He’d get in the Rover and drive back as soon as he got the chance. Enjolras’ whereabouts weren’t his concern. He hadn’t asked to be chauffeured to this place in the middle of nowhere and Enjolras was interfering with Grantaire’s plans. 

Enjolras turned the Rover down a dirt road and continued at least a couple of minutes before the farm came in sight at the top of a hill. Grantaire sighed. It was going to take a lot of time figuring out how to get back to the city. Grantaire wasn’t good at navigating. He might have gotten an English degree in prison, but Enjolras was clearly smarter. 

Wainhopper’s farm was small even though it was four winged. After they’d driven through the port Enjolras stopped the Rover on the cobbled courtyard in front of the main building. The two men stepped out and Grantaire looked around to take in the premises. It smelled like country. It was country.

“What do you use the other buildings for?” Grantaire asked.

Enjolras pointed to the left. “Crops and hay for the live stock.” Then he pointed to the right. “Over there we have a tractor, other heavy tools and the animals live there. Chicks are behind the building toward the yard. And behind us...” he turned to face the port building. “Workshop and where I work out. And this...” he pointed to a stone built grave in the middle of the yard the size of a car, “...is the dunghill. Don’t step into it or you’ll sink.”

“Wasn’t planning on it,” Grantaire hummed interested in what the buildings contained as such, but getting the grand tour wasn’t his priority right now. Couldn't hurt to sound interested though.

Pulling his own bag out of the Rover, he also helped Enjolras carry the shopping bags inside the house. In there, it smelled dusty and old, but when they left the mudroom and stepped into the kitchen, Grantaire had to stop himself from guffawing. The kitchen was phenomenal. One open space with a huge stove, kitchen island, and a grand French dining table made of one slab of polished wood. There were eight chairs gathered around it. The space was otherwise decorated with another table ensemble, a sofa arrangement, and lots of frames on the walls. Flowerpots fought for space in the window sills and knickknack was arranged on an old fifteen drawer acid washed oak mercantile counter giving the room a present yet timeless feel. It was as if Enjolras didn't live here at all, but the place just breathed by itself.

Grantaire imagined the rest of the house matched the decor of the kitchen. What he couldn't understand was why Enjolras had chosen to live in a place where time stood still. 

“So, do you have a family?” he asked, because he honestly had no idea if Enjolras just carried on living with Grand’s thing, if this was the work of a spouse, or if Enjolras really was this domestic.

Enjolras shook his head and pulled off both sunglasses and cap. “No. Just you.” 

Grantaire couldn’t help staring at his brother. There weren’t many physical similarities between them except the blue eyes and curls. Grantaire felt so much older in spite of Enjolras being only six years younger. 

No other family, he’d said. So there would only be the two of them, if Grantaire actually was to live here. Shaking his head, Grantaire was going to lose his mind if he had to live in a place like this all alone. “Never had a family?” he asked.

“No. Just waiting for you to get out of prison,” Enjolras said calmly, with that infuriating glint in his eye as if this was a gigantic joke with Grantaire as the punch line.

“...the fuck...” Grantaire said and narrowed his eyes. What a fucked up thing to say, and what a strange effect his brother had on him that he let him talk to him that way. Well, he wouldn’t stick around to finding out what had Enjolras in such a prickly mood. Grantaire gathered that perhaps Enjolras was too clever and had gotten crazy from living isolated. Grantaire had met people like that in prison. They usually didn't handle it well and some offed themself.

Enjolras tossed his car keys in a bowl on the mercantile counter that already was the home of several other nameless keys and what not. Grantaire knew it was like tempting the weak, because of course he would grab those keys and try escape. Either Enjolras was oblivious, or he didn't think it was a variable risk. Later... he would get the opportunity later. 

“Where do I sleep?” he asked to steer his thoughts away from the keys for the moment and looked expectantly at Enjolras.

“There is only one bed and it’s in the master bedroom,” Enjolras replied. “So we’re going to have to share.”

“You sure you want to share a bed with me?”

“Yes. I prefer to know where you are.” Enjolras pointed towards the sofa ensemble. “...unless you want to try that one? Trust me you won’t like it.”

The brothers looked at each other, and as much as Grantaire tried to look for ulterior motives behind Enjolras’ beautiful eyes he just knew were there somewhere, he couldn't find any.

“Which side do you prefer?” Enjolras asked cocking his head in question.

“The middle.”

That look turned annoyed immediately when Enjolras gauged Grantaire’s face for quite a few moments. “So do I, but either you choose a side or I’ll pick one for you.”

“I still prefer the middle, but if that ain’t happening, I’ll take the one closest to the door. Old habits die hard,” he said with a smirk. “And by the way, I need to finish recharging this.” He pulled out his phone from his back pocket.

“Good luck with that. We have no electricity.”

“What the fuck?” Grantaire asked completely thrown in shock. If he couldn’t charge his phone, he wouldn’t be able to navigate his way back to ‘civilization’ or call his parole officer to explain his delay.

“I knew you’d try something like that, Grantaire, but phones can track all kinds of people straight out here. I don’t want people finding us. I’d prefer if you had a chance to lay low for real.”

Grantaire stared suspiciously at him and then at the phone. There were light switches and power outlets all over the house, but what good would they do if there was no electricity? There were even lamps and small sconces mixed in with the many candelabras, so Grantaire was not in the wrong assuming he could charge his phone. But fine. The kid’s arguments held water. 

“Besides that it’s fucking inconvenient, how do you manage without?” Enjolras just sent him a dashing smile, and Grantaire just stared back stupidly. After a while, he rubbed the back of his sweaty neck. “Are we ever going to address the elephant?”

“Nope,” Enjolras said and went to open a door that revealed an impressive pantry. Then he proceeded to empty the bags they brought in and fill up the already well stocked shelves.

“How do you keep produce fresh?” Grantaire asked leaning against the wall next to the pantry. There were so many containers of cans, tins, preserves and the likes on the shelves, and they were arranged so it would be easy to find what you needed. Well, Grantaire was impressed. He just didn’t need to tell Enjolras.

“I kill a cow a day,” Enjolras deadpanned.

“Come on,” Grantaire said.

“I have an old fashioned icebox.” He pointed towards the door leading to the mudroom.

“How do you get ice?” Grantaire couldn't grasp the whole rural concept to be honest.

Enjolras smiled patiently. “We get it delivered. I only shopped because I picked you up.”

“So you buy from farms?” Grantaire made an unnecessary 380 even though he couldn’t see anything but the yard from the window. He tried to recall how many farms he’d seen, as they drove towards the dirt road leading up to the farm. There hadn’t been many.

“That’s how it works around here. Especially for me because there is no electricity.”

“But what about gas...” Grantaire asked.

“Grantaire... we’re fine,” Enjolras assured him before he had to answer more of Grantaire’s questions about every tiny detail he suddenly felt would become an issue. But Enjolras seemed to have ‘everything’ covered.

Putting a selection of items on the counter, Enjolras began preparing food. Looking up from slicing and dicing, he suggested, “Want a bath? Looks like the heat is getting to you.”

Now Enjolras pointed it out, Grantaire did feel uncomfortably hot.

Enjolras’ eyebrows frowned when Grantaire didn't say anything. “ _Alone_. I won’t be in it.”

Grantaire couldn’t help teasing him. “You could help me wash my back. You know...”

“Don't pull prison jokes on me. I won’t appreciate it,” Enjolras snapped back immediately. “The vat is behind the house in the garden. Your balls will shrivel but I bet you’ll enjoy it.”

“Fine. Ease up, mate.”

“Fuck you,” was Enjolras’ parting words before Grantaire stepped out of the kitchen.

~• ɷ͋ •~

Walking along the farm building outside, Grantaire’s curiosity got the better of him. He had to see ‘the vat’. And right in the back as Enjolras had said, there stood a huge water tank for gathering rain water. The water level was high enough to cover a person sitting down. As inviting as it did look, Grantaire decided to wait until later. He was more interested in what Enjolras was up to. Annoying as the situation was, Grantaire had to admit his brother was not boring company, and the kid still had a lot of explaining to do. Grantaire returned to the main building and stepped back inside.

Enjolras was busy cooking by the stove when Grantaire came in to join him.

“Thought you said no electricity...”

“Town gas, Grantaire,” Enjolras said, and Grantaire felt a little dense for not noticing the flames under the pan.

“What are you making?”

“Just something Grand used to make. Has no name but it’s a chicken and potato casserole.”

Grantaire hummed. That sounded fantastic and it smelled mouth-watering after being used to communal food from the prison.

Going to stand next to the stove, Grantaire folded his arms across his chest as he watched for a while. “Are we ever going to address the real elephant in the room?”

Immediately, Enjolras’ lips pressed into a thin line. “Nope. I’m over it.”

“Really, because you’re such a nag. I told you back then I didn’t ask them to come looking for me. ”

“Grantaire...” Exasperated Enjolras let go of the wooden spoon he was stirring with. “It’s no brainer that you didn’t ask them. These two fucking bullies just showed up out of nowhere. Trespassing _our_ home and threatened me to tell them where you were or else...!” Enjolras pushed Grantaire so hard in the chest he had to take a few steps to regain his balance.

“They slapped me in the face till my nose broke, kicked my legs and knees so my chances at a rugby career were blown, and then punched me in the kidneys so I pissed blood for three days afterwards, while making fucking _jokes_ about gang raping me just to get their point across. _That’s_ what they did to me. And although I’ll never forget it, I have managed to move on and put it behind me. Because you never get over being violated, do you understand? Imagine if Mum had been home, too? And all you ever contributed was... oh, yeah! NOTHING!” Enjolras walked up and jabbed his thumb into Grantaire’s chest. “So stop fucking TALKING about it!” 

Tears of anger sprung forth in his tempestuous eyes, but before they could spill over, he immediately wiped them away with the palms of his hands. Enjolras stepped away, and he seemed a little deflated after his emotional explosion.

Grantaire was experiencing the opposite and felt his blood pressure rise dangerously. He hadn’t known all of those details. Some shady individuals he’d associated with years back had come around the family house one night looking for Grantaire. Grantaire rarely came around anymore, but the incident happened when Enjolras had been home from college during a holiday break. He knew they’d assaulted his brother and that he’d needed medical help. At the time, he figured it safest to stay away altogether so they wouldn’t think to come back looking for him there. And because of that, he hadn’t known how critically they’d threatened his baby brother. Feeling his temper boil for revenge, Grantaire had difficulty controlling his emotions. Even though they hadn’t literally raped Enjolras, knowing now that they’d threatened to do it was in Grantaire’s book as good as if they had. All he could think about right now was killing them with his bare hands. That would have to be later when he was back in the city.

“I think I’ll go take that bath in the vat,” he said instead. He seriously needed to cool down right now. “Can I bum some clean clothes from you?”

Nodding silently, Enjolras picked up the spoon and went back to cooking.

~• ɷ͋ •~

Feeling he was back in control, Grantaire went upstairs. Admittedly, he was curious getting to know what was up there. Knowing as much as possible could only be to his advantage. He found a couple of doors but they were locked. The only door he could enter besides the bathroom was the master bedroom. He saw the monstrosity of the sturdy bed right away. It actually looked pretty inviting with its freshly done linen; it would have been nice to look forward to a good night’s rest, if not for the plans he’d already made with Enjolras’ car. He had to get back tonight. Turning, he went to look out the window and smiled. He actually recalled the garden and the tree house Wainhopper had built for them. He’d pushed Enjolras down the tree many times when his brother tried to crawl up and join him. Hm... Being a grown up now, it wasn’t a great memory, but he didn’t have many from this house in the first place.

What else... yeah, the closet against the wall which also was a huge monstrosity with three well-oiled panels that slid to the side when he pushed them. He touched the neatly folded stacks and rows of various garments secretly loving they belonged to Enjolras. Dropping his nose into a stack of t-shirts he inhaled. _Enjolras_. The clothes were freshly washed smelling but still, Grantaire could smell his brother’s scent on them. Reaching out, Grantaire hugged the clothes gently and rested his head on the top for a while, still in the process of calming down. It helped marvellously, so when he eventually picked out a light green t-shirt, cargo shorts, and fresh underwear, he was back to his usual cool.

Sticking his head inside the bathroom again, he got some towels, too. Sparing the lion footed bathtub a smirk, he still wanted to try the vat and headed outside.

In prison the other inmates didn’t dare to disturb him when he took a bath. Still, it was going to be wonderful to take a bath with absolutely no chance of being interrupted by anything other than supper.

The water felt freezing, so Enjolras was right; his balls shrivelled, but Grantaire actually found that part of rural life interesting; freeing even. It was a dangerous feeling because his goal was to get away, but until then he allowed himself to enjoy this for the few minutes he could endure the temperature.

Briskly he towelled himself dry after he got up and dressed in the fresh clothes. The dirty ones he dropped in the mudroom. Enjolras would have to explain how he cleaned his clothes. Now that was going to be interesting.

Feeling rejuvenated, he re-entered the kitchen with a big smile on his face.

“Hey, Enjolras,” he greeted.

Enjolras narrowed his eyes, but nodded.

“I’m not all bad, you know?”

“I know you’re not, but you’re not all good either,” Enjolras said.

Grantaire sighed. “Must we really...”

“Yes, we must. You’re an unscrupulous criminal, Grantaire. Don’t get too comfortable yet. I’m not buying it. I’m tolerating you.”

Grantaire stood still and felt his good mood disappear. “For what it’s worth, I’ve only killed in self-defence. But yes, I have a lot on my conscience. But it always comes back to self-defence.”

“I believe that you believe it and the good thing is that’s the only opinion I have to have about it. Your conscience belongs to you alone. And you’ve served time to redeem it. Doesn’t mean I have to trust you. Parole is just a piece of paper... Barely that. A click on someone’s computer.”

“You’re an infuriating little cunt,” Grantaire muttered annoyed but Enjolras’ remark didn’t set off his usual triggers. The difference was because he liked how smart his brother was; several levels higher than the people he was used to associate with.

Enjolras just hummed and grabbed plates from the old-fashioned rack hanging on the wall. Handing one to Grantaire, he ladled a portion for himself and went to the mercantile counter, pulled the top middle drawer, and fetched silverware for them both.

“What’s to drink?” Grantaire asked.

“Water, but we have lemonade. Two flavours as a matter of fact.”

“And I bet you made it yourself... No beer?”

Enjolras looked pointedly at him.

“I haven’t had beer in...”

“I don’t believe you,” Enjolras interrupted him.

Well, he got him there. Occasionally, Grantaire had managed to get his hands on beer, thanks to the Warden.

“...but yes, we can have a beer.”

“Yes!” Grantaire couldn’t help utter in surprised triumph.

“I put a couple in the icebox while you went bathing. Get them for us, please?”

He didn’t need to be told twice, and Grantaire went to the mudroom and located the infamous icebox and on top of the ice inside stood not just two beers but four. He took all four and cried out from the cold pain. He almost dropped them, but quickly bound up his t-shirt around the bottles and hurriedly bought their drinks inside immediately putting them on the floor.

“You could have told me!”

“Ice is freezing cold, Grantaire, and I didn’t get a chance!” Enjolras complained while trying to hide his laughter at the same time. Grantaire didn’t mind that much. It was just Enjolras.

“Shut the lid. The ice can only withstand so much heat in this weather.”

Grantaire went and did it and came back. “Man, how can you live without air condition?”

“Well, the walls keep out most of the heat and I make sure the windows facing south are shut with the blinders down during the warm hours.”

The house wasn’t oppressively hot, just humid, so it could have been worse for the season. “Many cool baths?” Grantaire suggested.

“It sure helps,” Enjolras said and threw him a dishtowel.

Grantaire used it to pick up the condensing bottles from the floor and put them on the dining table making sure to keep the towel underneath them. Enjolras came and sat down. He’d brought glasses. Once Grantaire had secured a portion of supper for himself, he joined him. Twisting their bottles they each filled their glasses with beer and with a silent toast they drank.

“This looks very nice,” Grantaire said. He hadn’t sat down like this for ages without being surrounded by inmates with each their disgusting eating habits.

“You haven’t tasted it yet,” Enjolras smirked.

“Don’t have to. I can smell it’s going to be a treat.” And then Grantaire dug into his food but after a few delicious bites, he put down his fork. “You’re a chef. You lied to me. This ain’t an old Grand recipe.”

“Yes, it is Grantaire, but thanks for the praise.”

Grantaire just pointed his finger at Enjolras as if he was being naughty, and it brought out a smile on Enjolras’ face like he was trying to uphold his poker face but couldn’t quite make it.

“Thanks, Grantaire,” he finally said and the smile on his brother’s face was genuine.

Well, if it wasn’t because of his parole officer and his nasty plans, Grantaire wouldn’t mind sampling more of Enjolras’ fine cooking in the future.

~• ɷ͋ •~

After supper, they helped each other cleaning up the kitchen. The domesticity of it had Grantaire almost ask if there was anything good on telly tonight, when he remembered that there was no electricity.

“How do you spend your evenings? If you’re so savvy with phones and the bad things they do how come you can live without a computer?”

“You assume many things, Grantaire, but don’t worry about my mental health. How about... a game? It’s quite stimulating.”

“Sure wouldn’t mind a game of poker,” Grantaire goaded him. “That’s a man’s game.”

“No, it’s not. It’s a con-artist’s game designed to cheat money from other people,” Enjolras corrected him. “I have many board games, though.” 

“So did prison,” Grantaire recalled not particularly fondly.

“Probably, but new games?”

“No... there weren’t new games.”

“With all the pieces intact.”

Grantaire laughed because the shitty games in prison had in fact been missing so many pieces that one had to be creative to play them. “Fine. What’s on offer?”

“Come and take a look for yourself.”

They went to the sitting room where Grantaire hadn’t been yet. It was as prissy as he imagined. Grantaire’s attention was directed to a table with three games put on top of a white embroidered tablecloth. Immediately, he pointed at Catan. 

“Always wanted to play that one.”

“Catan it is then.”

Patiently, Enjolras sat him through the rules and they managed to play a game without biting each other’s heads off. By how strong willed they were, it was quite a feat and afterwards they managed to have a civil conversation about their childhood memories, parents, and even the one pet dog they once had. By the time they decided to go to bed, Grantaire felt relaxed and quite frankly happy. 

That was until he remembered what his plans for the night were, and just like that his mood went from relaxed to tense.

~• ɷ͋ •~

What could have been an interesting experience sleeping next to Enjolras was now wasted because Grantaire had to stay awake to sneak out of the house at the right moment. He could find the irony in that because now Grantaire actually wouldn’t mind spending more time with Enjolras. He would have to take a rain check on that one – if Enjolras could forgive him. Again. If Grantaire took a moment to consider all this, he knew there was no logic to what he was about to do. However, that was the way he came out of the factory, and having spent most of his life amongst criminal minds didn’t help him thinking or act rationally.

At the same time, amongst all the feelings and new inputs he had learned today, the one that stood the sharpest in his mind was the people who was going to pay when he got back to London. More than ever he wished to hurt those arseholes even if he hadn’t seen them in many years. Those who’d wronged his brother and those who’d wronged Grantaire himself. So many people to hurt almost made him nauseas. In spite of all this, he loved his brother and always had - even when he wasn’t acting like it.

“Goodnight, Grantaire,” Enjolras said when he came back from the bathroom, clad in a t-shirt and boxer briefs. Turning his back on Grantaire, he got himself comfortable under the duvet.

“Goodnight,” Grantaire answered already in bed wearing a pair of Enjolras’ pyjamas bottoms. 

“We can get you some new clothes tomorrow if you’d like your own stuff,” Enjolras said.

“That’s all right. I’m okay with yours...”

“Fine,” Enjolras said and then there was only silence.

Grantaire turned his head and caught Enjolras’ silhouette in the bluish moonlight. He listened to the rhythm of his breath and when he was certain the pattern had changed into deep sleep, he silently got out of bed and put on his clothes.

Leaving the bedroom, he tiptoed towards the door, went carefully down the creaky stairs and into the kitchen. Quickly, he located Enjolras’ car keys and stepped out in the cobblestoned yard. Soon enough, his eyes found the Rover and determined he headed in that direction. 

Midway his bracelet began to vibrate. Conflicted, he stopped. Why was his bracelet bloody vibrating? He wasn’t further away now than he had been all day since they left the prison. He couldn’t take it off, because that would send a warning to his parole officer, but he couldn't make it stop either. 

“Fucking hell,” Grantaire hissed and weighed his options. “Bugger,” he said through gritted teeth and headed back inside. 

Back in the kitchen the vibration stopped and he breathed relieved. The danger was over for now. He imagined he had some amount of time before an actual alarm was unleashed with his parole officer. He just couldn't understand what went wrong, but wasn’t it typical these mishaps occurred when he was actually trying to get back to the city so he could get in contact with his parole officer? Of course, he would have to call him first thing in the morning and explain what had happened. With the now less than 15 % left on his phone, he would have to make it quick.

Subtly, he tried to return to the bedroom without making the stairs creak too much. He wasn’t particular successful, and Enjolras murmured sleepily as he slipped back under the covers.

“Where were you?” Enjolras asked, his back was still turned, and he sounded like he was barely awake.

“Just taking a piss. Go back to sleep.”

Enjolras sighed and turned to face Grantaire with his eyes closed. Grantaire felt his heart still racing. In spite of his failed escape attempt, it had been thrilling that Enjolras had no clue he could have woken up alone in the morning.

~• ɷ͋ •~

At Wainhopper’s Farm August 5th

At 8.25 am

“Good morning, Grantaire.”

With a start, Grantaire sat up expecting to hurry outside his cell for the morning count. Looking disorientated around in the room he woke up in, he remembered where he was when his brother entered his periphery.

“Um... Enjolras? Am I dreaming?”

“Do I often appear in your dreams?” Enjolras huffed dryly.

“You usually wear something different...” Grantaire said rubbing his hair.

Enjolras actually chuckled shortly, which Grantaire considered a victory.

“Have a shower. I’ve already made coffee.”

“Sweet,” Grantaire said, his voice a little rough.

“Do you smoke, Grantaire?”

“No, but I used them to trade.”

Enjolras just nodded.

“Why?” Grantaire asked.

“You smoked back then, so I was just wondering if you still smoked.”

“What? Have you secured a stash for me I can trade for lollipops?”

“Nope,” Enjolras said and smiled wickedly. “It would just have been another nasty habit you would have had to quit. But I do have a few lollipops if you’re craving to have one.”

“Not the ones you put into your mouth,” Grantaire said to see how Enjolras would react, but his brother just stared at him expressionlessly, except he couldn’t keep the mirth away from his eyes.

Grantaire pondered about that for a few moments, compartmentalising what was going on between them dynamic and chemistry wise. “You have no idea how much you can get away with speaking to me like that. No idea. You need to be put across someone’s knee, Enjolras,” Grantaire smirked.

Enjolras actually looked like he was considering it. “Sounds like hours of fun.”

Grantaire hadn’t expected that and even as he tried to come up with a witty comeback he fell short.

“Eggs, coffee, and bacon ready in ten minutes... tops.” And then Enjolras went down the stairs.

“Little cunt...” Grantaire muttered not unfondly. 

Looking forward to breakfast like it was Christmas morning, Grantaire rushed into the bathroom to grab a shower. Shockingly cold, because habits die hard and the vat bath from yesterday was already forgotten. Needless to said, he was done in no time and took the stairs by two when he went down.

“There was no hot water.”

“I know. I went first,” Enjolras smiled as he poked out the tip of his tongue to touch his bottom lip.

Unconsciously mirroring him, Grantaire bit his own lip. The banter they had started this morning was enjoyable, and because Enjolras was not a threat and had no ulterior agenda other than being of the opposite opinion of Grantaire, he felt how it made him relax but not in a way where he stopped being careful; just mentally alert, and it matched disturbingly to what Enjolras had told him was the reason for dragging him out here: to get a breather.

The kitchen smelled heavenly from the promised foods Enjolras said he’d prepared. And there was more. Juice, fruit, cereal, and yoghurt - however Enjolras had made that stay fresh.

Grantaire felt something inside squeeze hard. He didn't say anything, but the lump in his throat hurt like a motherfucker. Not used to this emotional rollercoaster, he pushed through it and sat down. “Playing housewife suits you,” he grunted instead. 

Looking up to see why Enjolras didn’t reply to the jibe, he found that his brother looked away as if he’d been monitoring him. That only made the lump hurt even harder. Enjolras reached out and served himself coffee and what looked like a piece of toast with eggs, fresh tomatoes, and bacon. 

“So you just... work here?” Grantaire picked up his conversation.

“I work from home at the moment.”

“While I’m here?”

“Not just because. I’ve been doing it for a while.”

“What exactly is it that you do?” Grantaire asked as he picked out foods to put on his plate along with a big mug of heavenly smelling real coffee.

“I manage a law firm. Mostly goodwill, but also donations from...”

“Gods, I’m bored already...” Grantaire interrupted.

Enjolras just smiled. “Well, you’ll find out eventually what I do.”

“Just don’t ask me to donate.”

“Don't worry, Grantaire. I wouldn’t dream of it,” Enjolras said. “You have a parole officer waiting for your first payment, right?”

“Gees, yes. What...” he asked caught off guard.

“Call them and explain your situation.”

“Of course. ‘Hello, sir? My situation is how my fucking brother wants it to be. How do you feel about that, sir?’” he replied.

Enjolras just shrugged. “Couldn’t care less."

“Well, I don’t think he’ll see it from my point of view. I’m risking to get thrown back in prison with added sentence.”

“You’ll never know if you don’t try.” Enjolras’ sounded almost compelling as if he wanted him to fail, and Grantaire felt lured in by dangerous honey.

“Fine. Let’s assume I’m actually calling...”

“Call them...”

“You really push my buttons now,” Grantaire hissed, tightening the hold on his butter knife, “And besides, my phone....”

“I charged it from the Rover this morning, while you were still sleeping.” 

_So you went through my things..._ Grantaire thought, quickly assessing if there were incriminating things there that would have ruffled Enjolras’ delicate feathers. He couldn’t recall any but even so, that’s what you’ll get from going through another person’s private belongings.

“Thanks... I guess.” Grantaire deflated somewhat after almost blowing a fuse. “What time is it even?”

“Clock’s still on the wall.” Enjolras pointed to the wall behind Grantaire.

Oh, yes. He recalled he’d noticed yesterday. Turning he saw that it was only 8:52 in the morning. So office hours were just around the corner if not all ready ongoing. “So, Enjolras...” Grantaire initiated. “Since you’re so blasé about my parole lacking even before it’s begun, what do you recon is going to happen, if I don’t get in touch with my parole officer today?”

“What did they say in prison?”

“That I had to show up... today... in London... and that I have to pay them every month.”

“How much?”

“That’s not it. I have money. But if I’m stuck here, what...”

“From where I see it, you just call them and tell them your situation. That’s how the system works.”

“You piss me off, Enjolras... the system is the people, and they fail to see the individual person from behind their desks when they execute their little rulebooks,” Grantaire said dangerously. “And what happened to yesterday when phones were dangerous? Now you want me to call them?” 

“I can change my mind, can’t I?” he said and got up to put his dishes in the sink. Then he fished out Grantaire’s phone from his pocket.

When Grantaire took it, it was still warm from Enjolras’ body heat. 

“The reception is better outside, by the way,” Enjolras said and cleared the rest of their breakfast. He was about to heat water, when Grantaire decided to go outside and make the call.

“What to say, what to say...” Grantaire muttered as the ring tone came on. Seconds later his call was answered.

“Combeferre Ltd. How may I help you?”

There was something about that voice that startled Grantaire, but he was quickly distracted because of his urgent predicament.

“I need to speak to my parole officer.”

“Name?”

“Oh, my name? My name is Grantaire. My parole officer is um... one moment.” He fished out the card and read aloud. “Mr. Combeferre himself? I’m not even sure about that.”

“You have the right person. What can I do for you?”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Combeferre, I just... I guess I was expecting the guy who saw me in prison, and your voice doesn’t sound like Mr. Comb...”

“Grantaire... Mr. Grantaire... Can we skip to the fact that in an hour I expect you to sit in front of me with £50 in your hands, so why are you calling already now?”

“Because I was picked up by my...” Grantaire hesitated, but surely they couldn’t know. “...brother and I probably can’t make it for 10am... um... so... I was hoping...”

A soft chuckle was heard on the other end and something about that voice startled Grantaire, but he was quickly distracted when Mr. Combeferre spoke, “Mr. Grantaire? You have to show up in person. You know this and were informed that it will be regarded as a violation of your parole? You’ve been out one day! Do you really want to go back to prison? Do you want our bounty hunter to come and get you?”

That sentence triggered Grantaire’s self-preservation instinct just like that. Were they tracking him after all? Did Enjolras tell him to call Mr. Combeferre deliberately? Swallowing reflexively, he eyed Enjolras’ Rover. Yes, why indeed was he not in London but still here? 

Because Enjolras was offering him a unique chance to quit his old life and because he hadn’t been this relaxed in ages. Looking at his phone, he made a bold decision and ended the call. At least, they couldn’t track him now. The call couldn’t have been more than a few seconds. The rush of anxiety was still running through him and it didn’t feel good. Turning on his heel, Grantaire went back into the kitchen.

“Enjolras...” he said and came to stand next to his brother who had just turned off the gas and was now pouring hot water into the kitchen sink.

“Careful...” he warned Grantaire so he didn’t get burned by the steam.

“I ended the call on my parole officer. I don't know what to do. They threatened to come and get me.”

Enjolras nodded slowly. “They won’t succeed, Grantaire. I’m glad you feel you can trust me.”

Grantaire’s hands were shaking, but yes. He knew he could trust Enjolras. He just didn’t like admitting it out loud. However, after that short and yet shocking conversation with the parole officer, he instinctively knew that he had no other choice but trusting Enjolras and he needed his advice right now.

“You put me here, mate. Now what do we do? I kind of admitted you picked me up.”

“It’s not going to be a problem.”

“Right. It’s not. Because you’re not registered... Should I call them again?” he asked brainlessly. “No. They just threatened to come and get me.”

“Parole officers don’t threaten unless they have a reason to. Do you want to call them?”

“Maybe just to tell them that...” God almighty fuck; why the bloody hell couldn’t he make such a simple decision? But he was paralysed by what he ought to and what Enjolras wanted. “I just... You told me... I mean...” Grantaire was close to freaking out by the conflicting situation Enjolras had created around them. In prison he’d lash out, but here that was not a variable.

“My advice is that you stay here. You know I want you to stay here,” Enjolras said and looked at him kindly. “But if you feel it’s the right thing to do, you should call them and clarify that.”

“Fuck... not helping...” Grantaire muttered and ran his palm over his face. Resolutely he pulled out his phone and called the office once more. Another ringtone sounded, and confused Grantaire looked up to see Enjolras pull out a phone from his pocket and answer.

“Combeferre Ltd. How may I help you?” Enjolras said softly.

~• ɷ͋ •~


	3. Chapter 3

~• ɷ͋ •~

At Wainhopper’s Farm, August 5th 

At 8.25 am

Grantaire just stood there holding the phone to his ear. White noise filled his brain, as he slowly put all the pieces together. Enjolras disconnected the call, but even the beeps didn’t pull Grantaire out of his stupor and shut his gaping mouth.

“Your question is probably why,” Enjolras said.

“So it was your voice. You set this whole thing up?” Grantaire finally said carefully.

Enjolras nodded. “Actually, it was Mr. Madeleine who set it up when he contacted me a few weeks ago, insisting he wanted you out of the picture. Out of crime. I don’t know how he found me and, at the time, I'm not even sure why I said yes. You’re a fucking pain in the arse.”

Grantaire was shaking harder now and suddenly, he felt Enjolras put his arms around him and greedily, Grantaire pulled him in. This had been what he needed, and he almost felt something burst inside of him. A distant feeling he couldn’t describe except gratitud, and kept his arms around Enjolras to keep the feeling going.

“So you’re staying?” Enjolras asked a while later when Grantaire reluctantly let go.

“I’m staying,” Grantaire said.

“You’re not going to run away in the middle of the night?”

Grantaire frowned. “You knew?”

“Yeah, I did. Why didn’t you go through with it? You had access to my keys and everything.”

“Because of this?” Grantaire lifted his arm to show him his bracelet. “It was activated somehow.”

“Well, I activated it,” Enjolras said and pulled out a device from his pocket.

Grantaire rolled his eyes. “And here I thought you were just happy to see m...”

“Fuck you,” Enjolras said and gave him a finger.

Grantaire gently grabbed his finger, then his hand, and finally he pulled Enjolras into his arms for another hug. “Thank you,” he murmured into Enjolras’ hair.

“All right. You can let go of me,” Enjolras said after some time.

Grantaire did and sighed heavily, wiping tears away from his eyes. “So, nobody is coming to get me?”

“No, regretfully so. Nobody wants your sorry arse.”

“Good... fucking smashing,” Grantaire said. “But then who is Combeferre really?”

“A very dear friend of mine, associate, and not least a terrific actor. Now grab a towel,” Enjolras prompted him, and Grantaire gladly did.

“Can you take this off first?” Grantaire asked, hinting at the bracelet.

Enjolras just laughed. “Not a chance.”

~• ɷ͋ •~

After the dishes had been sorted, Enjolras nodded. “Wanna come and say hello to the rest of the family?”

“Family? You said there weren't...”

“The four legged one,” Enjolras clarified.

“Oh... Sure,” Grantaire said, and followed Enjolras to the mudroom.

“Put on those Wellingtons. It’s going to get dirty.”

“So explain the whole thing to me,” Grantaire said, as they stepped out into the courtyard.

“I am your parole officer, by the way,” Enjolras said with a wry smile.

“You are?” A slight tension ran through Grantaire, but Enjolras quickly diffused that one. Apparently, he had an explanation to everything.

“Yes. Like I told you yesterday, I graduated my social studies, which along with my law degree means I can perform parole office duties. Your Mr. Madeleine is quite clever. Before your parole came up, he reached out to me. I’m sure he called in several favours to have this orchestrated in time. You should be grateful.”

Only the Warden’s thorough pounding into Grantaire’s arse across his desk came to mind, but of course, Enjolras wouldn’t appreciate knowing that. “I’m your first case?”

“Yes,” Enjolras said with a smile, as he slid a door to the side to let them into the stable.

Grantaire’s nose was met with the scent of slurry that permeated the air at all times. It was potent, but could have been worse. “Place looks clean,” he noted.

“Yeah, I went over it this morning.”

“This morning? When did you get up?”

“6.30. During the summer usually 5.30, but then we went to bed late.”

Hm... “What do we have here?”

“Well, the cow over there is a little poorly, so she wanted to stay in. Usually, the animals are outside in their paddock on the meadow.”

“Does she need a vet?”

“No. She’s just in a mood. Maybe she’s longing for a bull. Who knows?” Enjolras joked. 

“Why does she have a flower painted on the side?” Grantaire asked after a closer inspection of the cow.

“I named her Floréal.”

“Seems appropriate. Is that a pig?” Grantaire asked when he realised the hay moving in another small stall.

“Yeah. Also lazy. She was meant to be slaughtered last year, but I tend to grow fond of these beasts and I couldn’t do it. Luckily, she’ll eat anything, so she’s fairly easy to satisfy.”

“And what’s her name?”

Enjolras looked towards the corner as if he hadn’t thought about it and suggested, “Bacon?”

~• ɷ͋ •~

They went back outside and passed the port. Following the building, they walked on the cobblestones in companionable silence.

When they came to the back, Grantaire recognised the vat, of course, but only now did he notice when they walked further around the house that within a fenced enclosure, there was a small dam with geese, ducks, and a fucking hissing swan of a dubious muddy colour. It was like a goddamn set up for a Disney film.

“They don’t like the swan... the others,” Enjolras said with a small exasperated chuckle.

“I imagine it has a nasty temper.” Grantaire wouldn’t mind a little fight with that one, but he also reasoned it would be wrong and that he could get seriously hurt.

“It has. I’m not trying to make it leave either. It’s still a baby. I imagine its feathers will turn white eventually... But anyway, they’ll just have to get along - or not,” Enjolras mused. “Meet Mr. Thénardier,” he then said and pointed to a goat munching a soggy newspaper right next to clusters of juicy dandelions. “He’s not too clever,” Enjolras sighed fondly. “The charming sheep over there is Mrs. Hucheloup. She’ll be having lambs very soon. Neighbour’s ram apparently came visiting without my supervision.”

“Do you... like eat them?” Lamb chops suddenly seemed very appealing, but he wondered how he would feel about it, when the lambs belonged to ‘the family’.

“Yeah... I’ll kind of have to. With only one stable there simply isn’t room for expanding the flock too much with Floréal and all. I’d love to but it’s not realistic. I don’t enjoy having to slaughter them, but...” he shrugged before he pointed further away. “And then there are the chickens, of course; laying their goddamn eggs everywhere but in the henhouse.”

“So that’s the family?” Grantaire said.

“Yeah, that’s about it.”

“No cats and dogs?”

“Not yet. Cats are everywhere out here, but I don’t let them into the house.”

“I’m a dog person,” Grantaire said.

“I thought you might be. I am a cat person, though.”

Grantaire huffed amused.

“If you’d like, we can get a dog.”

A dog? Grantaire took a careful look at Enjolras. “How long do you want me to stick around? My parole is up in thirteen months.”

“I don’t want you to leave at all,” Enjolras said with no preamble. “After your parole is up, of course you can do what you want. But I’d really like it if you wanted to stay even after that.” Enjolras kept his breath several seconds as if he was gathering momentum for what he truly wanted to say, and he sure didn’t disappoint when he continued, “The whole point of you having done time is to put your crimes behind you, Grantaire... and move on. You’ll never start living your life until you do. Can’t you understand that?” Enjolras looked beseechingly him.

Grantaire looked away. He honestly didn’t know what to feel. “Why are you doing this for me?”

“Because even with everything you’ve done, you’re my only family, and I don’t want to lose you. I don’t want to bury you because some wanker killed you over money... probably. I know you’re thinking about getting back the money you’ve hidden away.”

“Haven’t admitted to anything.”

“Grantaire! The point I’m trying to make is that striving to get as much money as possible just to spend them just as fast is not the way to get happiness. It’s just superficial greed and leads you to commit more crime to get more!” Enjolras’ eyes were filming over from the emotions his words caused him. “This...” he pointed between them. “This is real, Grantaire. We are real. Crime is for somebody else. And I hope that by staying here, you’ll understand that.”

Stunned yet again, Grantaire just stared at him. “You love me.”

“Of course I love you. You’re my brother,” Enjolras said; by now, not caring that tears were running down his face.

“That’s not a guarantee,” Grantaire said clenching his fists a few times. “I’m deeply touched though; I want you to know that. And all right... I hope I can handle living here, I just can’t promise I won’t go stir crazy.”

“We’ll do our best to make it... interesting,” Enjolras said and only then wiped his face dry with his sleeve.

Recognising genuine care was still a little rusty to Grantaire, but he knew this was one of those moments when another hug was appropriate, so he stepped into Enjolras’ space and put an arm around his brother’s shoulder. Being allowed to show affection was scarily new as well; especially towards blokes. In prison it would have been unheard of and only sending a one-sided signal which was the very same Grantaire had avoided. He honestly couldn’t recall the last time he’d willingly reached out to comfort someone else. Perhaps when Enjolras' mother was still alive, and maybe even towards Enjolras himself when he was young, but he had no memories of that; only a catalogue of violent and insignificant acquaintances.

Looking at the random animals cosying the day away, Grantaire steered away from the sad topic saying, “I appreciate the sentiment... and yes, I wouldn’t mind a dog around the house.” 

Enjolras huffed through his nose in amusement.

“Have you thought about turning this into a petting zoo?” Grantaire suddenly suggested, even though he didn't actually feel like surrounding himself with other families and their screaming children.

“Yeah, sometimes. But I think we should concentrate on getting to know each other first,” Enjolras said and put his hand on top of Grantaire’s and played with one of his fingers for a few moments. Then he dropped his hand as if noticing what he’d been doing. Grantaire smiled to himself. Small steps. Very tiny, but he looked forward to more of them. “How come you really know about the money?” he suddenly asked and instantly regretted admitting to it.

“...come on...” Enjolras said, and lifted an eyebrow. “You’re completely transparent and besides, Madeleine warned me. Your case is not a national secret.”

Grantaire shook his head. “Guilty,” was all he could come up with. Enjolras was too clever for Grantaire to try and outsmart; always a step ahead it would seem, so why did Grantaire even bother?

“We have to gather eggs,” Enjolras said and went to the nearest white washed wall to pick up a bucket.

“I’ll just watch...” Grantaire said.

“No. Gathering eggs is going to be your mission in life henceforth. Locate their secret spots and report back to headquarters what you find out,” Enjolras deadpanned. “If your intel holds water, you might even find the elusive eggs of geese. All your eggly treasures can be traded for lunch omelettes with bacon. Yum. See you inside for debriefing,” was Enjolras’ parting quip. As he passed Grantaire, he pressed the bucket into his hands and disappeared around the corner. 

Chuckling, Grantaire began to look around. Then he took a deep breath in true content. Knowing the omelettes would be amazing, because Enjolras would be making them, he decided that sure... he could gather eggs. Eying the swan, he stepped around the grassy area, mindful of shit in all sizes from the various animals. But then he realised he was wearing Wellingtons for a reason, and decided not to care where he stepped and then the search for eggs truly began.

Mr. Thénardier followed him when he was close enough and eventually, he squatted and scratched the boy’s beard. The goat looked happy enough even though it was obvious it was getting old and only had one good eye. When the creature started to munch on his hair, Grantaire got on his feet with a grin.

So far he hadn’t gathered much. The meadow wasn’t big, but big enough that there were endless places the hens could drop their eggs. Then he noticed one of them running to sit under a fan of docks and sure enough; under the plants he found a collection of eggs. He pushed the hen to make her get up and leave and picked up the eggs to put in the bucket.

Was that enough? It looked like a lot and he went back inside to present them to Enjolras.

“What do you reckon?”

“Looks great,” Enjolras said with a smile. “Just put them on the counter.”

“Shouldn’t they be put somewhere cooler?” Grantaire asked.

“No... fresh eggs don't need to be cooled down. They can last at least three weeks before they go bad.”

“Really?” Grantaire didn't know that.

“Let’s go out and pick some greens,” Enjolras said and went to the mudroom again.

“Wellingtons?”

“Sure.”

The herb garden was to the other side when they stepped out of the port once more. Enjolras had a neat herb garden positioned towards the dirt road they arrived on. 

“What do we have here?” Grantaire said. He recognised the classics such as carrots and peas.

“We’ll need basil, radish, and dill.” Enjolras squatted and with some herb scissors he snipped just enough of each.

“Can we have some carrots... just because?”

“Of course. You don’t have to ask.”

Grantaire nodded and pulled a handful of carrots free and they went back inside to prepare the meal.

“Just let me know when you’re hungry,” Enjolras said.

“I’m not hungry but I was wondering what you expect me to do.”

“The plan is actually to go shopping for clothes. I know you said you’re fine with mine, but fact is that you’re stretching my t-shirts out of shape. Also, you should have your own underwear and socks. Do you want to do it personally or would you prefer doing it online?” Enjolras asked dropping the herbs on the kitchen counter.

“And how would you have me do it online with no electricity?”

Reaching out casually, Enjolras flicked a switched and to Grantaire’s shock the lights in the ceiling flickered, bringing a neon top light to life.

“...you have electricity?” he asked cocking an eyebrow.

“Been there all the time,” Enjolras said and stepped closer to Grantaire.

Nodding courtly Grantaire growled angrily, “You’re a fucking cheating cunty arsehole, Enjolras!” Turning half he faced his brother again. “Fucking hell! Do you even understand how much grief that’s caused me, because of how constricting it was for me?”

“Sorry. It was necessary at the time,” Enjolras said not even blinking.

“Yeah, I bet. And now I don't need it any more – I mean... you know except for the usual.”

Enjolras just huffed cutting off the light again. “Well. We have it.” Then he left again.

“Where the fuck are you going now?” Grantaire asked and ran after him.

“Chores.”

~• ɷ͋ •~

It didn’t take long for Grantaire to realise that living on a farm was never boring. There were a million chores that needed to be done. Some every day, others were on a rotating planned schedule. Lastly, there were those that just happened by themselves like today where Mr. Thénardier had decided to try and chew his way through the fence, so they had to repair that asap. 

“He’s my kind of guy. Trying to chew his way out of prison,” Grantaire joked.

“He’s so unbelievably dim-witted and costs a lot in damage; you can’t help but liking him, though,” Enjolras said annoyed through the nails sticking out of his mouth, as he hammered away on a wooden pole.

“He tried to eat my hair earlier,” Grantaire mentioned.

“He tried to bite off my balls the other day... I think he secretly prefers boys,” Enjolras said, got up from his kneeling position, and plucked out the excess nails to drop into their box on the ground. Then he gathered his hair in a fresh bun.

Grantaire grinned and nodded. “Perhaps you should find him a partner then?”

“No. They’d just be shagging every time we come down here,” Enjolras said and looked challenging at Grantaire. “Grand did point out that the poor lad couldn’t tell the difference between ladies and gents...”

“Really? How straight forward of her,” Grantaire said.

“We can’t let you get any bad ideas,” Enjolras replied, as he stepped nearer to Grantaire.

Frowning Grantaire shook his head. “What the fuck’s that supposed to mean? I don’t fuck the domestics.”

“Would you fuck me, though?” Enjolras asked when he stood close enough to breathe into Grantaire’s face.

Thoroughly provoked, Grantaire grabbed Enjolras’ shoulders and stared into his gorgeous face. “Only if you say ‘please’,” he said, narrowing his eyes in suspicion and wondered how they’d ended up in that situation. 

Lifting his chin in defiance, Enjolras didn’t answer but kept staring into Grantaire’s eyes. 

“You started this. What do you want from me?” Grantaire asked, as the moments ticked away. When Enjolras put his head on Grantaire’s shoulder, he let his hands slip around his little brother instead. Fuck, if Grantaire was fucked up, maybe perfect Enjolras was, too. 

“This is good,” Enjolras said slipping his arms around Grantaire’s waist.

“You don’t get to tease me like this,” Grantaire warned him, whilst eyeing Mr. Thénardier. “You hear me?”

Enjolras didn’t say anything but fisted Grantaire’s t-shirt slightly. 

“Enjolras...” Grantaire said, as a thought crossed his mind. “Have you ever been in a relationship?”

“Nothing long enough that I’d call it a relationship,” Enjolras admitted immediately, his voice sounding muffled. “Have you?”

“Yeah... some.”

“Inside prison?”

Grantaire angled his body to look at Enjolras, ready for the next verbal fight, when Enjolras looked strangely cross.

“Inside prison?” Enjolras asked again harder.

 _Fuck it,_ Grantaire thought and admitted it. “Yes. I had something going inside prison.”

“So, you’ve been with men,” Enjolras insisted to know.

“Yes. I’m queer, Enjolras. I thought you knew,” Grantaire said, but then he realised that Enjolras couldn’t have known since they’d never been close enough to even have a real conversation when he still lived at home.

“I never knew. I suppose Mum would have known, but she didn’t tell me things about you much. Dad however... pff...” Enjolras snorted at the sheer thought of their dad having ever told him anything useful. “Was prison... you know... I mean... who hasn’t heard about how things can get...”

“I didn’t fuck anyone I didn’t want to, and those showing interest in checking out my arse paid the price for it. You don’t want the gruelling details, Enjolras.”

“Yes, I do,” Enjolras said. “How else am I going to get to know you?”

Grantaire breathed heavily and pulled his brother back into the embrace they had going. If there ever was an opportune moment to tell him, this was as good as any other. Grantaire decided to just spit it out. “Yeah, all right. Just remember that I’m not Prince Charming, Enjolras. I’m a hardened criminal.”

Enjolras just nodded readily, encouraging him to continue. “I understand and I need to know.”

Taking a deep breath, Grantaire said, “Mr. Madeleine and I had... an affair I suppose, but trust me there were no feelings between us.”

“An affair? You _fucked?”_ Enjolras hissed.

“Yes, Enjolras. We did. I didn’t shag anyone else and we always used condoms. I don’t know nor do I care if he had other inmates bent over his desk besides me. I sure never heard of them.”

“Fine... you don't need my permission," Enjolras mused, taking in Grantaire's reaction.

"Well? Don't be shy," Grantaire said on the verge of sneering.

"What’s it like for you? With a bloke?” Enjolras finally asked.

“What? Sex?” Grantaire asked surprised that Enjolras wanted to know something so fundamental.

“Mhm...” Enjolras said.

“Geeez...” Grantaire smiled, “Do I really have to teach you about the bees and...” Then he felt Enjolras shaking slightly.

“No...” Enjolras chuckled and looked at him with amusement in his eyes.

“You’re making fun of me?”

“Never... I may not have been in a long term relationship; however, I’m not a virgin.”

Cocking his head, Grantaire regarded his brother closely. “Are _you_ gay?”

Enjolras looked away, but his smile was still gracing his face. “I’m... I don’t know. I think I’m mostly stubborn.”

“That’s not a sexual orientation,” Grantaire said and ran his palm over Enjolras’ hair. “What gender did you fuck?” he asked and stuck his fingers in Enjolras’ hair and gave it a tug to get his attention.

“It’s none of your business,” Enjolras said moving slightly away. Grantaire’s fingers slipped out of his hair as Enjolras stepped away.

The magical moment was over.

“Ugh...” Grantaire sighed. Enjolras was so prickly; high maintenance, and Grantaire knew he would have to show a great deal of patience. He’d barely left prison twenty four hours ago, but the world where the need to instantly respond to any beef with violence already seemed a long time ago. And living here, there was no need to. Apparently, he had an excess of patience where Enjolras was concerned.

“What’s next on the list?” he asked Enjolras who was busying himself fixing other parts of the fence now they were loaded with hammers and nails anyway. Without his permission, his eyes slipped down to check out how hot Enjolras’ arse looked in jeans when he squatted like that. Just as quickly, he looked away again.

 _Ten out of ten..._

Enjolras straightened from his position and dropped the hammer in the toolbox. Dragging the back of his hand across his forehead, he said regretfully, “We have to clean the gutter this week. I hate doing that but...”

“I’ll do it,” Grantaire volunteered.

“O-okay.” Enjolras’ voice faltered surprised.

“All the way around?” Grantaire asked.

“Yeah, but it’s going to take several hours.”

“If you make the omelettes within an hour, I’ll start straight away and do the rest after lunch.”

“All right,” Enjolras said with a shrug. Clearly, he had thought Grantaire was going to object. And yesterday he would have been pissed off at being presented with this menial chore in the middle of summer, but today just really felt different. 

“You’ll need the hose,” Enjolras said and immediately began helping with setting up Grantaire’s workspace.

Armed with a mechanical roll for the hose, a big bucket and tools, Grantaire began from the courtyard and worked his way around the small area before he would have to step outside the port and continue around the buildings from the outside. It was strenuous hot work and the sun was blinding him most of the time. Eventually, Enjolras called that he could come inside and eat.

Quickly, Grantaire went to the bathroom to wipe off sweat and wash his hands before he joined Enjolras in the kitchen.

“I found a sun hat of Grand’s if you want to use it,” Enjolras said with a smirk and presented a floral patterned hat with a big brim.

“Just a cap if I can use yours.”

“No, I want a picture for the family album,” Enjolras said and grinned.

“Seriously, mate. You will end up on my lap for a smack some day,” Grantaire threatened him.

“Promises, promises,” Enjolras said and set down two plates to serve the mouth-watering omelettes on. “What would you like to drink?”

“Can we have beer, Mum?” Grantaire asked.

Narrowing his eyes, Enjolras nodded. “I’ll just have water, though. Too hot for me for alcohol.”

~• ɷ͋ •~

At Wainhopper’s Farm, August 2nd 

At 22.05 pm

“You use the word fuck a lot. Are you horny, Grantaire?”

“What if I am? You’re a motherfucking passive aggressive little twat, Enjolras.”

“Nooo... did you only just realise that now?” Enjolras said, sending him a dirty look from under his eyelashes.

“Your turn, and you say fuck all the time, too,” Grantaire muttered, feeling a stir in his groin. 

Enjolras grabbed the dice and shook the cup. Three and two. Uneven, so Grantaire could ask Enjolras and he would have to answer truthfully. 

“Do you have a gun?”

“Yes. As a parole officer, I automatically have a permit. I have a permit anyway, but if I hadn’t had... I would still be allowed to have a permit.”

Grantaire snorted extremely interested. So Enjolras had a gun. “Where is it?” he asked.

“Roll the dice, Grantaire,” Enjolras said looking him into the eyes.

“It’s in the mudroom, right?” Grantaire asked, knowing what reaction he’d get.

“Do you want to play or not!?” Enjolras exploded.

“Ease up, Enjolras. Only joking.”

“Guns are off the menu!” Enjolras said.

“Okay, because you lacking a sex life is so much more interesting.”

“Sex and guns?” Enjolras said.

“...and rock’n’roll...” Grantaire finished. “...I don't do drugs...”

“Only alcohol...” Enjolras sing-songed under his breath, but clearly wanted Grantaire to hear it.

“Okay... that’s it,” Grantaire said and slowly got up.

Enjolras looked at him, patiently waiting to see what Grantaire was going to do.

“Get up,” Grantaire said and whipped his fingers palms up in a provocative come hither gesture.

“Why?”

“That spanking is really overdue...” Grantaire said with a grin and, by the way Enjolras hesitated, he knew he had a winner. The thrill was irresistible and a second later, he charged Enjolras who shot out of his seat. For the next ten minutes he chased his brother around the ground floor of the house, before he caught him in the corner of the kitchen heaving from laughter. Only now that Grantaire had caught him, he wasn’t going to hurt him... much.

“Just don't do it too hard,” Enjolras laughed. “I don’t like pain.”

“And still you’re asking for it. But fine... Where would you like me to perform the punishment?” Grantaire asked.

Enjolras didn’t answer but went for a hug instead, which Grantaire provided without shilly-shallying now. Holding Enjolras was the best thing in his life right now, and he didn’t care how long it took. One hand slid up his brother’s spine and grabbed his nape. The other just rested firmly around him. Enjolras’ wild heartbeats steadied gradually, but he didn't make any signs of wanting to let go. Grantaire didn't want him to either. He’d just hold him tighter if he did.

“What’s going on?” he whispered after a while.

“You’re not leaving me, right?” Enjolras asked.

“I’m not leaving you,” Grantaire said.

“I’m just gonna lock up and then let’s go to bed. I’m exhausted,” Enjolras said.

~• ɷ͋ •~

Back in the bedroom, Enjolras undressed slowly like he was asleep on his feet.

As soon as Grantaire was under the covers, Enjolras moved his body across to the middle and Grantaire followed his example and brought them close.

After looking at each other in the dark for a while, Enjolras asked, “What are you thinking about?”

“You,” Grantaire admitted readily, smoothing his hand across Enjolras’ back.

“What else?”

“You...” Grantaire repeated and Enjolras huffed a small laughter; his breath was warm against Grantaire’s lips. Their foreheads brushed back and forth. Enjolras’ mouth was dangerously close.

Enjolras’ top thigh forced itself between Grantaire’s legs. His cock was deliciously hard.

“So, little Enjolras,” Grantaire murmured against his brother's lips. “Don’t you get lonely out here?”

“Sure...” Enjolras purred, “sometimes I find myself missing people I don't even like.”

“Such as?”

“The neighbour’s mouth,” Enjolras said.

“What about _my_ mouth?”

“Been dreaming about it since I knew what jerking off really meant...”

Grantaire moved his head away and looked truly shocked at Enjolras. “What the fuck...?”

“Can you handle that?” Enjolras challenged him.

Honestly, Grantaire wasn’t sure that he could. “You’ve...” he began.

“I have wanted you for as long as I can remember,” Enjolras said. 

“Also when I lived at home?”

“Especially when you lived at home,” he said and deliberated let their pecs brush. “Those moments when you’d just showered and only wore an excuse for a towel...” Enjolras smirked knowingly, and Grantaire felt his face heat not having known he was his brother’s wanking material.

“And the neighbour...”

“What neighbour?” Enjolras said irritated. “We’re miles from everything.”

Grantaire let out an exhale. “Top or bottom?”

“Oh, you’re definitely bottom.”

~• ɷ͋ •~

The both of them couldn’t get out of their bedclothes quick enough. In spite of what Enjolras had said, he sat down on Grantaire’s lap readily and reached out for the bedside table drawer to bring out a tube that could only be lube and a box of condoms.

“Lie down,” he instructed Grantaire who obeyed delightedly, as he ran his hands from Enjolras’ hips and to his ribcage and down again.

“You’re gorgeous,” he told him.

“You’re fucking gorgeous,” Enjolras said back and leaned down to kiss him with a moan of longing.

Grantaire grabbed Enjolras’ hair and pulled out the elastic. Sticking his fingers into the rich texture of curly strands, he pressed Enjolras’ mouth harder against his a few seconds before letting go. 

Enjolras smiled and sat back up. Then he squeezed out a good sized dollop of lube and started working his fingers into his body. 

“Thought you wanted me to bottom?” Grantaire reminded him.

“You are. Topping from the bottom.”

“Doesn’t make sense.”

“Well, I need to ride this cock so bad, so do you really care?”

“Not at all,” Grantaire smirked and ran his hands over Enjolras’ own toned chest and stomach.

Grantaire didn’t think Enjolras was deliberately giving him a show but just watching his brother’s facial expressions as he finished prepping was pretty exciting. “All right?” he asked, admittingly getting impatient and Enjolras nodded.

“Let’s do this,” Enjolras said and inhaled deeply a few times.

“You’re not a virgin, are you?” Grantaire suddenly asked, albeit superfluously. “Are you?”

Enjolras looked gently at Grantaire and shook his head. “I said I wasn’t, didn’t I? Don’t worry about it.”

“Obviously I do. So don’t try and impress me.”

“I’m not a virgin. I know what I'm doing. Do I have to ask permission to make you put your dick in me?”

Grantaire snorted. “If that’s your guilty pleasure... then fine. You may proceed.”

“How magnanimous of you,” Enjolras said and smiled. “For the record then; I lost my virginity when I was fifteen, all right?”

“Oh...” Grantaire said, surprised at the young age. “To a...”

“I’m not going to tell you or you’ll see red.”

“I already see red. Who was it? Not some disgusting uncle I haven’t heard of?”

Enjolras frowned. “No! Nothing like that. You remember the Fauchelevent family across from our house back home?”

“Not really.”

“Well, the daughter was a good school mate of mine that I spent a lot of time with after school. She was quite comely. They had this kid coming around their house, occasionally. Obviously, the kid was smitten, but he was also taken with me, saying she and I kind of looked alike - which I kind of found offensive at the time. Still, we used to meet in my room and had some interesting study hours with him on his knees.”

“You made him blow you?”

“We didn’t make him do anything he didn’t want. I even allowed him to call me Cosette in front of her.”

Grantaire needed a second to understand what he’d just said. “We? So this happened in front of her? While she was present?”

“His kinks were... not as shocking as they sound, but for us as teens, they were pretty advanced.”

“I want pictures.” Of course he didn’t - besides the Warden’s daughter’s name was also Cosette, so it triggered something unpleasant in him.

Enjolras shook his head. “There are none, thank God.” Then he kipped his chin. “Too much talking, Grantaire.”

“Yeah, let’s fucking shag,” Grantaire agreed.

"Are you clean?" Enjolras asked as he reached for the box of condoms.

Grantaire smiled. "I was tested about a week ago. A few days before the parole meeting. And I haven't had sex with anyone since then. The test was negative."

"Good." Enjolras literally threw the box off the bed and grabbed Grantaire’s cock and gave it a good layer of lube before he curved it behind him and lined up. 

"And you?" Grantaire asked as he inhaled sharply when Enjolras gradually sank down on his cock. 

"Maybe I lied. Maybe I am a virgin," Enjolras said challengingly. "I am clean though."

"You fucking little... Ohhh..." How could it feel this good? “Oh, my god. This has been much too long ago for me.”

“You didn’t have sex in prison?” Enjolras asked and leaned forward to rest his hands on Grantaire’s pecs and nipples to give them a good groping, which only intensified the sensation.

“Not top sex,” he groaned. "Imagine me fucking the Warden?"

“Don't wanna know his particular kinks. You were a prag?” Enjolras bored down, gyrating his hips.

“No! What do you take me for? I was in a consensual relationship with the Warden. I already told you.”

“Righto,” Enjolras said, as if it had already slipped his mind and began to ride him. Probably harder than Grantaire would have started out, but he sensed jealousy and it was fucking motivating. 

“You hate the thought of that? Well, I hate the thought of that little twink who took your virginity.”

“Never said I fucked Marius,” Enjolras grunted. “Cosette, however...”

“Don't wanna hear about it,” Grantaire said, as he bent his neck and stole a harsh kiss.

“Don’t bite,” Enjolras moaned and still pushed for more dirty kisses. “I’m just taking what I’ve craved for too long.”

“Slut,” Grantaire growled fondly and Enjolras moaned louder. 

~• ɷ͋ •~

Wobbling down the staircase the next morning, Grantaire was struggling to put his arms through the right holes in his t-shirt. As his eyes darted towards the kitchen counter for the coffee machine, he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. 

“YOU?!” 

~• ɷ͋ •~


	4. Chapter 4

~• ɷ͋ •~

At Wainhopper’s Farm, August 6th

At 8.40 am

“Jesus motherfucking Christ!” Grantaire burst out in shock.

Montparnasse was standing in the kitchen looking very self-satisfied by the reception he received. “Good morning to you, too. Surprise, huh?”

“How did you find me?” Grantaire asked immediately, because that was the root of the matter.

“What’s going on?” Enjolras asked, coming down the staircase still only wearing his sleep shorts with his hair all tussled. He froze, too, when he realised there was a stranger in the house.

“Was easy peasy, mate,” Montparnasse chuckled. “Do you think I didn’t know about you and the Warden?”

A thousand conflicting emotions ran through Grantaire and, gathering the most important ones, he had two priorities: He would not let Enjolras get hurt and he had to puzzle out the most efficient way to neutralise Montparnasse - which was doable until a second person entered the kitchen. How many were there and did they have weapons?

“So you blackmailed him?” Grantaire stated.

“Of course. What do you take me for? Everyone knows you have a lot of money stashed and we want them.”

“Well, get in line, Montparnasse. How come you’re here?”

“Let’s see,” Montparnasse said and rubbed his chin. “The Warden’s very informative when you have dirt on him.”

“Gees,” Grantaire exploded exasperated. “How can you be _here!_ Why are you out?”

“Oh... thaaat,” Montparnasse chuckled, pretending to sound good-natured. “Because if you’d bothered to listen to me last week, I would have told you I was also up for parole. The Warden had surprisingly good things to say about me and pushed forward the date.”

Grantaire nodded as his jaws worked overtime not to let words come out he would regret. The Warden had been pressured to sell him out. It was no biggie. Greed had made Montparnasse and his little friend hold their cards close and not tell other people, which was Grantaire's advantage now. He needed all the time he could get to figure out how he and Enjolras got out of this in one piece.

“First... I don’t have the money.”

“Probably, but you know where it is, right? That’s why you’re hiding out here, right?”

“Depends...” Grantaire said. “And secondly...”

“What a pretty little thing you’ve got stashed away there,” Montparnasse interrupted, sending the topless Enjolras appreciative looks that triggered Grantaire’s Alpha instinct. Only Enjolras’ interference a moment later stopped him from attacking Montparnasse for even insinuating he was interested in fucking his precious brother.

“How did you find this place?” Enjolras asked unimpressed and stepped briskly around everyone and went to stand behind the kitchen island counter. Grantaire literally jumped in shock by the unwise action.

“Slow moves, Pretty Boy!” Montparnasse warned and pulled out a gun from the back of his trouser’s waistband. To Grantaire’s relief, Montparnasse’s friend didn’t also pull a weapon, so obviously he didn’t have one. This was good, because he seemed jittery and could accidentally shoot because of nerves and hurt them. So if Montparnasse felt superior being the only one carrying, that also meant there was only the two of them, which also made sense. More people meant sharing the loot with less to everyone. Montparnasse had only brought jittery guy along as muscle and what a laugh that was by now.

“Not so cocky now, huh?” Montparnasse said almost triumphantly at Grantaire.

“All right. Calm down,” Enjolras said placatingly and slowly lifted his hands in peace and put them flat on the counter. “What was that about the sweet toy? Were you referring to me,” he asked pointing at himself, “Or Grantaire?”

“You, luv',” Montparnasse said and licked his lip, stupidly demonstrating how gross his choice of wording was.

“I don’t really see the appeal. Sorry,” Enjolras said and unhurried pulled his other hand back before he pointed at Grantaire. “Grantaire though is quite the catch. And you’re really here for the money, aren’t you?”

Both Montparnasse and his companion looked at Grantaire who was impressed by the psychological sidetracking Enjolras had going. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the subtle moves of Enjolras’ shoulders and it had to indicate that he had gotten himself a weapon. Which kind could be anything from a spoon and to the gun he’d said he had a permit for.

“It depends... we’ve got time,” Montparnasse said and grinned at Grantaire. “You really threw the spanner in the works this time, mate.”

“...And you’re missing your front teeth,” Grantaire suddenly noticed.

“Yeah... We had a little bump on the road so to speak before we got here.”

“And you blabbered about where you were going?”

“Hell no. I ain’t stupid,” Montparnasse said resentfully.

“Of course not,” Grantaire said.

“Monty...” his mate said.

“Not now, Sousie.”

“But the other one has a gun, Monty!” Sousie cried out.

Everyone was now looking at Enjolras who was pointing a short nosed revolver at Montparnasse. “Put down your gun,” he said softly.

“Hehe,” Montparnasse chuckled delightedly. “Why don’t you put down yours, luv'? You might get hurt holding dangerous objects.”

“And we...” Sousie said, “wouldn’t want a pretty thing like you getting hurt, would we?”

Montparnasse narrowed his eyes displeased. “Shut the fuck up,” he hissed. “Hey, Pretty Boy. Put the gun down and we’ll...” 

Enjolras just cocked the gun and pointed at Montparnasse’s crotch. That didn’t escape the intruder’s attention. Clearly, he had no clue what his next move was, because he hadn’t calculated that where Grantaire was, there would also be a gun in the house. In hindsight, it was telling of how slobby Grantaire had gotten since he left prison. Grantaire wasn’t the one with access to a weapon and his street cred was smarting.

“Come over and join me, Grantaire,” Enjolras said, his aim not wavering.

“Oh, no you don’t,” Montparnasse tutted, but it had no effect and Grantaire moved to stand next to Enjolras anyway. Looking down, he saw another gun in the drawer, and amazed he picked it up and pointed it at Montparnasse as well, albeit his chest region. Sousie wasn’t a threat.

“Now...” Enjolras said. “Sousie. Lie down on the floor.”

Grantaire cocked his gun and Sousie lay down obediently and even put his hands behind his head.

“Sousie... I’ve got a fucking gun! What the hell are you doing?” Montparnasse protested, but his accomplice did as he was told.

“Put down your weapon, Montparnasse, and kick it towards me when I tell you to.”

Finally, Montparnasse accepted he didn’t really have any options unless starting a shoot out that would only resolve in him getting killed, if he shot either Grantaire or Enjolras. When Enjolras prompted him, he surrendered his gun and began to lie down, too.

“Not side by side. Head to head,” Enjolras commanded. “Check their pockets, Grantaire.”

“What do we do now?” Grantaire asked, as he systematically emptied all the trespassers’ pockets. They didn’t have other weapons on their persons.

“Uh...Take them to the basement,” Enjolras said.

“The what? We have a basement?” Grantaire asked.

“We certainly do,” Enjolras replied. “Get on your feet,” he told Montparnasse and Sousie, pointing the gun in the direction he wanted the two intruders to go.

“We’re walking, we’re walking,” Grantaire supplied jokingly. He'd seen custodians do that on film.

Next to the staircase, there was a locked up door and it lead down to the basement. Enjolras flicked the lights on and all four of them went downstairs with Montparnasse and Sousie leading the way.

Down there, Grantaire stopped abruptly. His blood froze because there was already an arrangement on the floor with chains and a mattress covered in a plastic sheet.

“What the hell?” he asked.

“Not now, Grantaire. Stay focused,” Enjolras said and of course he had no other choice. “Sousie. Put the cuffs on Montparnasse.”

Montparnasse threw every cuss words at them he could come up with, but Sousie was not going to risk anything and did as Enjolras ordered.

Then Enjolras stepped closer to the two intruders and told Grantaire to chain Montparnasse. Grantaire did but the hairs on his neck stood at attention, because had this been made for him if he hadn’t bent to Enjolras’ whims? After he’d chained his former prison mate, he stepped back and watched what Enjolras was going to do next. Admittedly, he kept a finger lightly on the trigger – just in case Enjolras turned on him.

Enjolras addressed the two men who jumpily looked back at him, worried what he was going to say and Enjolras didn’t disappoint, “You’re not invited. You’re not our guests and as such trespassing burglars. I trust Mr. Madeleine is the only one who would know that the two of you can be found here?”

Montparnasse only grunted but the brothers took that as a yes. 

“So, my home can be invaded by the police because of you two fucking twats?”

Again, Montparnasse and Sousie concurred with unintelligible grunts.

“Fabulous,” Enjolras said icily and looked at Grantaire who wasn’t thrilled knowing this either. 

“The chains are long enough for you to reach the toilet, which is the bucket in the corner. Water and food will be provided... Don’t fight over the mattress. Or do... I don't care what your preferences are.”

Enjolras uncocked the gun and went upstairs with Grantaire following. 

As soon as Enjolras slid the door lock in place, Grantaire was in his face. “What the fuck was that?” he shouted.

“Calm the fuck down, Grantaire! I am a parole officer. I don't have to explain myself when I secure my home. I didn’t make the arrangement for _you_ , Grantaire!” Enjolras shouted back as he moved around. “For Christ sake! You have to stay the fuck cool now. I need you collected. If those two can come out here, who knows who else will? This is suddenly not a safe haven anymore.” He reached out for Grantaire’s gun. 

Instinctively, he didn’t want to give it back, but at this point he couldn’t really convince himself that Enjolras had suddenly gone against him. Reluctantly, he gave it to him. “Well, I hate to break it to you, but you kind of dragged me out here.”

“I didn’t know you were _shagging_ Mr. Madeleine when he made the deal with me!” Agitatedly, Enjolras put the weapons back in the drawer and shut it with one loud shove.

Grantaire growled at his choice of words, but it was what it was. “You should put it somewhere safer.”

“Well, I didn’t and it just saved us, didn’t it?”

“All right!”

They stared at each other for a few moments smelling the resentment thick in the air. “Did they arrive by car? Montparnasse mentioned a ‘bump on the road’,” he said to break it.

His question had Enjolras on his way out of the kitchen immediately, and Grantaire followed him to the mudroom. However, Enjolras was already outside in the courtyard where he awkwardly walked barefooted on the cobblestones.

“Put on some shoes, mate!” Grantaire called out having brought him some. Enjolras hurriedly put them on and Grantaire followed when he practically ran out through the wide open port to investigate the dirt road to either side. 

No car as far as they could see from their hilly point of view.

“Montparnasse is too lazy to not park close if they came by car,” Grantaire said.

“They must have gotten a lift or taken the bus then,” Enjolras said mostly to himself. “Also, I need to find out how they broke in,” he then continued, whereafter they returned to the kitchen. “Check the parlours, Grantaire,” he instructed.

Grantaire went through the living and sitting rooms, but there were no signs Montparnasse and Sousie had come through the windows there. When he came back to the kitchen, he found Enjolras kneeling behind the pantry door. The small window in there was positioned towards the garden and the glass was broken. Both intruders were slim enough to be able to squeeze themselves in through there.

“The window is not secured, because the door is usually locked along with the rest of the house.”

“Usually? Did you lock the pantry door last night?”

“I’m not even sure now, or else they’re good lock pickers. I just shouldn’t be so unfocused now that we’ve come so far.”

“Hey, don't beat yourself up...”

Lifting his hands to stop him Enjolras bit at him, “Don't give me a pep talk now, Grantaire! We’ve got two fucking unwelcome people in the basement and this is not what I wanted for us!” 

His irrationality was frankly unusual, so Grantaire backed off letting Enjolras get through his meltdown unprovoked. Instead he prompted him, “So now what?”

Wiping his hand across his forehead Enjolras nodded as if his thoughts were paralysing. Finally, he seemed to have gathered strength to formulate a strategy. He mumbled mostly to himself, “All right. We could host those idiots for the time being, and then... and then... we should _probably_ contact the police. After all, they did break into our home even if we didn’t hear it... or maybe we do not call the police because...”

Grantaire wasn’t sure what the expression on Enjolras’ face meant, but it sure didn’t read as if he really wanted the police to investigate the break in. “But you don't want the police here.”

“I really don't want any attention directed at you. But I want you safe, so...”

“Don't call the police then. After what they did, I assure you that the Warden doesn’t want them. We don’t want them. Only their mothers want them.”

“You want them gone?” Enjolras asked neutrally, but his focus was unwavering now.

“Uh... All right. I might as well admit it. I’ve done worse in prison that can’t be proven. People have disappeared that I am to blame for even if I didn’t directly commit it. Trust me on that.”

“I do trust you. I just don’t want you involved in crime,” Enjolras said and went to the kitchen island and opened the drawer again looking at the contents serenely.

“Then what do you suggest?” he asked when Enjolras picked up the gun Grantaire had been holding before and went directly to unlock the door to the basement.

“Enjolras. No!” Grantaire said realising what he was planning to do.

“Why not? I have a permit. They did break into our home,” Enjolras said too calmly and put his hand on the handle.

“No. I don’t want you to.”

“I don't want you to either.”

“Bugger!” Grantaire swore agitated.

“It’ll be all right,” Enjolras said and actually smiled. “Trust me back.”

Grantaire almost responded in kind but realised that maybe he didn’t trust Enjolras 100% right now.

“I don't want you to do it,” he said.

Enjolras cocked his head as if he found Grantaire cute, and then he opened the door. "Then don't come."

“I said no!” Grantaire yelled but Enjolras was already on his way down the stairs. 

Grantaire only got as far as to the door before he stopped as if his feet wouldn't obey him. He shouldn't be terrified of gunshots but nevertheless he still stood by the door practically jerking when shots were fired. They sounded so unnaturally subdued in the low ceiling basement. That pushed him to get his bearings and hurried down the stairs. When he reached the last step, he took in the scenario. In disbelief Grantaire stared at Montparnasse and Sousie’s slackened expressions as they lay still on the mattress.

Enjolras slowly lowered his arm and turned to look at Grantaire. “There. What was the fuss all about?”

Fuss? Grantaire’s eyes took everything in; the strange position of Sousie’s body that indicated that the bloke had tried to bend his wrists unnaturally to try and get free of the chains and that he would have succeeded if Enjolras hadn’t interfered.

“How come they don’t bleed?” he asked suspiciously after a few seconds had passed, because he finally recalled that blood usually goes along with shooting somebody.

“Because the bullets are tranquilisers. Not meant to kill.”

“You’re a fucking psychopath,” Grantaire said realising he’d only been threatening Montparnasse and Sousie with tranquilisers.

“No. I’m protecting my home and my loved ones. These...” Enjolras pointed at his victims, “came here with the intent to kill you. You do realise that there will potentially be others?”

Grantaire stepped closer to Enjolras. “I am aware. Can we pack the animals in a suitcase and get us all back to the city? That would make me feel safe.”

Enjolras huffed a small laughter. “Yeah. That would be fantastic, right?” Then he turned his head and sighed. “Help me carry them outside to the dunghill?”

Dunghill. Right.

“Do we use the plastic?”

“Absolutely." 

~• ɷ͋ •~

Shuddering in disgust, Grantaire wondered why he was so affected by these two scumbags’ demise. But as he watched Bacon happily helping them getting rid of the evidence, he felt pretty nauseous.

“And they suffocated in the dung?”

“People usually do that lying face down.”

“Are you sure she’ll eat both of them?”

Enjolras rested his underarms on one of the beams of Bacon’s stall and said solemnly, “She’ll eat until their skulls are the only thing left... and then she’ll eat those, too...”

Grantaire lost the contents of his stomach.

Twice.

~• ɷ͋ •~

At Wainhopper’s Farm, August 6th 

At 10am

Shaking, Grantaire sat in the kitchen and held a mug of coffee with both hands. “I don’t know why I feel like this.”

“You mean normal?” Enjolras said staring straight ahead holding on to his own mug.

“Like I’ve implied before, I behaved dreadfully in prison and after a while my conscience became dodgy. I didn’t care about anyone and they only feared me because I was the one providing them goods from the outside. Added with a little brutality, it kept me alive. I’ve forgotten what responsibility towards someone feels like. I don’t even think I ever had it. But I’m... it _scares_ me if something happened to you and I hate that feeling.”

Enjolras nodded. Grantaire understood now that he had been feeling it all the time when Grantaire lived under their family roof; even when he moved out to live the precarious way he had for his entire adult life. Loving someone was glorious, but the thought of losing them terrifying.

“You’re in survival mode in prison. It has to be surreal,” Enjolras said as if he thought out loud.

“How do you feel?” Grantaire asked.

“I don't know. Numb? I hope to react at some point but I’m not looking forward to it.”

“Maybe you feel too much so you don’t know how to recognise it?”

Enjolras looked away. “Some would categorise it as shock, but I’m... mostly just numb. Even though what we’ve just done goes against all I thought I stood for, and believe me this is the first time I’ve done this, I find myself not caring about what just happened. But you’re avoiding the issue. The money, Grantaire. These people came for the money. What did you have in mind?” The tone in Enjolras’ voice was tinged with added stress.

“Who says...”

“Please, don't pull my leg. People like you always have a plan for after,” Enjolras demanded.

“People like me?” Grantaire said seeing red and got up. He could feel the anger slowly crawl under his skin even if he knew lashing out didn't help. But days, weeks, maybe even years of pent up frustration demanded an outlet now apparently.

Getting up as well, Enjolras responded to the charged electricity between them as well. “It’s not _personal_. If you have money stashed away, of course you’ll want them back. What were your plans?” Enjolras asked with his voice rising, too.

“Why do you insist on knowing?”

“Because we need to stop this! You need to turn the money in.”

“Turn... Are you completely daft?”

“Yes! Probably!”

“Why are we even shouting?” Grantaire shouted. “We’re on the same team!”

“Because I’m...” Enjolras pressed his palm against his mouth and visibly swallowed bile that made him cough and retch.

“Bloody hell... Don't – don’t get your knickers in a twist over this,” Grantaire said superfluously, having calmed down immediately. He went to fill a glass with water that Enjolras quickly downed before he hurled the glass in the other direction and it smashed to pieces against the wall.

“Enjolras... wow...” Grantaire said after a few stunned moments.

Looking towards the mess he’d just made, Enjolras’ voice cracked when he said, “This is like a horror film. I was so sure I had every possible outcome under control, but I feel like I’ve completely lost the plot.”

“You can never be 100% sure when you’re dealing with convicts and crime. That’s why we get caught by the police.”

“Not helping!” Enjolras said. “What if someone from here saw them get off the bus? What if people on the bus remember them getting off? What if Mr. Madeleine does ‘the right thing’ if someone reports them missing?” Enjolras looked at Grantaire expecting an answer.

Grantaire shook his head. He didn’t know and he certainly didn’t want Enjolras to lose his shit now. “If he does that, I’m going to come forward and expose him.”

“Do you think he trusted we could handle ourselves?”

“I need to call him and find out if anyone else has come forward to blackmailing him or if Montparnasse kept his knowledge to himself.”

“I’d better...” Enjolras looked at the mess in the far back.

“Yeah. Gees, what a fucked up morning,” Grantaire said and went around the island and grabbed Enjolras’ arm.

Sighing, Enjolras slipped into his arms and put his own around Grantaire. “We’ll get through this.”

“I can’t believe we just passively let them die like that.”

“I don't know what you’re talking about,” Enjolras said tonelessly. “We agreed nobody was going to miss them but their mothers.”

Waiting a few baited seconds, Grantaire went along, “Then I don’t know either.”

~• ɷ͋ •~

“Madeleine speaking.”

“Great. Hello, Warden. Grantaire here. I’m on speaker.”

“Thanks for telling me. Hello, Grantaire. I wasn’t supposed to hear from you already.”

“Well, something came up.”

“I suppose it did.”

“My brother picked me up and I’m at his place. Did you set me up?”

There was a small pause and then Grantaire heard the man sigh. “Yes. I wanted you to have a better start than the one I’m sure you planned yourself.”

“And thank you for that,” Grantaire said because the Warden deserved that credit.

“It was my pleasure. Has something happened since you needed to tell me what I already know?”

“Such as...?” Grantaire tested him.

“You tell me.”

All right. 

“You don’t have to play coy. Something happened and you know what.”

“Not over the phone, Grantaire,” the Warden said.

Of course not.

“We’ll come in then. We’ll find a place to discuss this.”

“This? What is there to discuss about it?” the Warden asked, sounding tired.

“Not over the phone,” was Grantaire’s turn to remind the Warden.

“Let us meet at three o’clock in London. Meet me at the Musain. It’s a coffee shop on the corner of Labaisse Road.”

“I’ll let Enjolras direct me. My phone is old and wonky.”

“No. Enjolras? Stay out of it. You’ll have to manage it yourself, Grantaire.”

“Why? Enjolras is my parole officer... and by the way; thanks for not telling me.”

“Why spoil the fun?” the Warden said, amusement evident in his voice.

“Fucking annoying humour, Warden.”

“See you at three. Try not to get arrested for speeding,” the Warden said and ended the call.

“Sick humour.” Grantaire put down the phone and looked at Enjolras.

“I’ll drive you.”

“He said to come alone.”

“I heard him, but it’s not the plot to a spy film.”

“Could have fooled me,” Grantaire said and grabbed Enjolras’ face to plant a firm kiss on his lips. Moving forward, Enjolras melted into the kiss and they hung to each other for a while trading the kisses they had been robbed of due to the inexcusable morning they’d had. The fact they hadn’t pulled a gun to their robbers’ heads felt worse than if they had. The result was the same. Montparnasse and Sousie died by their hands because they deliberately let them suffocate in the disgusting dung. Unconsciously, he held Enjolras tighter.

“I can’t breathe,” Enjolras complained with a chuckle. “We need to discuss our best course of action.”

“Tough,” Grantaire muttered and burrowed his face into Enjolras’ hair to cover up the sudden spike of regrets.

When he slackened his grasp, Enjolras slipped out and went to stab his index finger against the granite counter a few times. “So... Madeleine knows what you’re going to address. He knows they showed up. He doesn’t know the outcome, of course, but he also knows you’ll be demanding an explanation why he chose his family over yours.”

“I know.”

“You will not exploit that knowledge; is that clear?”

Grantaire frowned. Enjolras had his Parole Cap on now. “Why not? He sold me out!” he protested nevertheless and pointed towards himself.

“I know, but you’re better than that and putting pressure on the man will only take away every privilege we’ve gained with him.”

Pushing his jaw forward in annoyance, Grantaire said, “Fuck it. All right, so what do you suggest?”

“Tell him what happened and he’ll be eternally grateful that Montparnasse is gone. He won’t be able to blackmail Madeleine ever again. Montparnasse didn't tell anyone else so it stops there.”

“And what makes you so sure he won’t care about what happened to Montparnasse? It’s a serious crime, after all.”

“Because only Montparnasse’s parole officer will wonder why he doesn’t show up, inform the Madeleine, and the Warden'll know anyway that he’s missing.”

Nodding, Grantaire sighed irritated. “So, yeah. Fuck. I can’t believe I thought I was the fucking shit in prison. I’m just useless at figuring these things out in real life.”

“Hey,” Enjolras said and put his hand on Grantaire’s chest, rubbing the softness of his worn t-shirt a few times before he continued, “You don’t have to be. You’ve got your own set of faculties that I admire and need.”

“Such as?” Grantaire asked suspiciously.

“You’re my kin, and I love you.”

Grantaire snorted, but he liked hearing that.

“I love you, too.”

“I know,” Enjolras acknowledged warmly. “And also, you’re smart, you get me, I can trust you in stressful situations. You handled everything I threw at you without going against me. If you’d faltered down there...” Enjolras pointed to the floor indicating the basement. “We could easily have been the ones in deep shit... no pun.”

“You really have no problem that we let them die?”

“I have a ton of issues but they’re useless. They came with a gun and Montparnasse wanted something he couldn’t have. He might have killed you or at least put you out of the equation somehow, and from the way he addressed me, I was singled out for entertainment; do you really think I wanted to relive that?”

As the horror film of that scenario passed his third eye, Grantaire’s breath hitched. His emotions went from guilt to _‘die motherfuckers!’_ in a split of a second. Still, he almost broke down and Enjolras grabbed him in a bruising hug. “I’m so sorry if I seemed blasé about it the other day, Enjolras. I want you to know that I was ready to rip their stinky dicks off to use as voodoo dolls, when you told me about what happened back then.”

Enjolras just breathed slowly. “Can we just say that that won’t be necessary?”

“What do you mean?” Grantaire sniffled.

“The rumour never hit the street?”

Straightening his back, Grantaire searched his mind and came up short. “What exactly are you trying to tell me?”

“Might as well tell you, since we’ve already lost our heavenly access. I got my revenge in college.”

“Let’s go to the Confidential Chair, Oprah,” Grantaire said and grabbed Enjolras’ coffee along with his own and moved them to one of the comfortable sofa ensembles.

“What I’m about to tell is strictly classified.”

“All right. Not that it’s necessary to tell me, but of course it stays with me,” Grantaire assured him.

“Good.” Enjolras looked earnestly at him. “In college I worked in a bar on weekends to make ends meet. Dad had left my mum _again_ , so I was not going to ask her for help...” He stopped. “That was not the road I was heading for,” he huffed quietly. “College always brings up too many memories that blend together.”

“I’m sure they do,” Grantaire said. He could relate in so many other ways how that happened in life.

“So, there was this one late night time on a Friday. Usually, the place was packed with students from the faculties so when this bloke came up to the bar he was so out of place. I couldn’t help study him closer and I recognised him as one of them.”

Instantly, chills ran down Grantaire’s back as possible scenarios already played out in his mind. 

“Already drunk, he didn't recognise me back, but the slurs were on and he threw propositions at me as if I was part of the cocktail menu.”

Grantaire’s fists curled by their own account, as if they were able to grab the wank stain’s neck and just keep squeezing. “And then what...?” he asked indistinctly.

“My roomie was also tending the bar that night – he was the one who got me the job. And he saw what was happening, so when I told him who he was, my roomie asked if I wanted help to get him out of my face.”

“...okay ...and?” Grantaire asked, needing to know.

“He offered to buy him a drink and they left together...”

Enjolras looked past Grantaire for a while. “Anyway. What my roomie said afterwards was that he’d roofied his drink and sent a message to someone who then showed up and raped him in an alley.” Enjolras’ eyes found Grantaire’s. “Apparently, there were several people showing up to participate. It shouldn’t make it right, but I really felt avenged when my roomie told me what happened.”

Smelled like the exact same feeling Grantaire had just experienced himself a moment ago. “Had you told him about what he’d done to you?”

“Yes.”

“How come your roomie just happened to have roofies?”

“I didn’t ask but I requested another roomie afterwards and got Combeferre instead.”

 _Oh... interesting._

“Had he ever roofied you?”

Enjolras hesitated. “Look, that’s all I wanted to say. I got my revenge with one of them.” He stood up just as Grantaire did.

“Not so fast, baby.” Grantaire grabbed Enjolras’ arm. 

“It’s over,” Enjolras warned him.

“Tell me,” Grantaire insisted.

“No.”

“Enjolras!”

“Get ready for the trip. We’re driving in five minutes.” Enjolras twisted his arm free and left the room.

“God fucking damnit...” Grantaire growled, but shuffled dissatisfied after him.

~• ɷ͋ •~

At the Musain, August 6th 

At 15.10 pm

“This is the place,” Grantaire said, as they stopped in front of a lovely looking coffee shop. Going inside, they headed for a more secluded booth in the back and slid into the well worn seats; waiting for the Warden to show up.

“Hi, I’m Musichetta. What can I get you two?” a server asked, as she approached them with her ordering pad at ready.

“I’ll just have a coffee,” Enjolras said with a smile she returned.

“Pie and uhm... beer?” Grantaire said quickly, casting Enjolras a look.

“No beer,” Enjolras said and kicked his shin under the table.

“Noooo beer. A... uh... coffee?”

The server smiled indulgently with a smack of bubble gum and left.

“I’m bloody nervous,” Grantaire admitted.

“So am I, but smelling of beer is not showing we’ve got the situation under control,” Enjolras said and stared pointedly at Grantaire.

“Shut the bloody fuck up,” Grantaire grumbled, drumming his fingers a few seconds against the table. At the same time, the Warden stepped through the door and walked towards their table.

“Hello, Grantaire... and Enjolras, I presume?” the Warden said; his tone was mildly admonishing, since his direct order hadn’t been heeded.

Sitting down he looked at Enjolras. “You need to separate between family and your position, Enjolras.”

“Then you shouldn’t have made me his parole officer, Madeleine, because it’s kind of moot by now,” Enjolras responded. “But fuck that. We have much more urgent matters to discuss, and I can’t actually let Grantaire do the talking... no offence.”

“None _taken_ ,” Grantaire sniffed, because he did feel offended, even though he knew Enjolras would be better at recounting the incident from this morning.

“But I’d like you to start, because apparently it all began with you, Mr. Madeleine.” Enjolras cocked his head and smiled falsely at him.

“Quite,” the Warden said and looked up as the server came back.

“Oh! Daddy has joined the table?” she asked innocently, and Grantaire snort-hiccupped in surprise by the bizarre mistake.

“A coffee black,” the Warden said straight faced. “...And crayons for the lads.”

The server frowned before she realised it was a joke. “Cute. Would you like me to leave a pot for you?”

“Sure,” the Warden said.

When she came back, she’d actually brought crayons and a pre-printed paper sheet. 

“For the ‘lads’,” she said and left them alone.

Chuckling Grantaire accepted the gifts and started filling in the spaces.

“Do I really look that old?” the Warden asked. 

Grantaire shook his head. “Nah, Warden. She’s just hopelessly young and we all look ancient to the young... no offence,” he said and smirked at Enjolras.

“None taken,” Enjolras said and smiled at him. Then he focused on the Warden. “You’ve trusted me so far. At some level you trust Grantaire as well, I hope. He never betrayed you or took advantage of what happened between you.”

“You told him?” the Warden asked Grantaire sharply.

“It came up in conversation, and the morons who came visiting certainly also thought it was worth mentioning,” he defended himself.

“Damn it...” The Warden ran his fingers through his greying hair. Nodding a few times, he said, “All right. Transparency is the best procedure here. We need to work this out... whatever it is that needs to be worked out.”

“Please continue then,” Enjolras said. Grantaire would bet the entire farm that his brother was mentally taking notes and would in fact remember everything they’d talked about afterwards.

“As you know, Grantaire and I had a ‘thing’ in prison. It went on for far too long, but I couldn’t stop it... it’s no excuse towards my wife, because she’s innocent in this. However, also not interested in having a sex life with me. So I admit when I first met you, Grantaire, I thought you were incredibly fascinating, and I took a chance. Unfortunately, we became careless, since Montparnasse got news of what transpired during your visits. When he called me out on it, and threatening to expose me, I had no other choice but do what I could to save my family and my job. I apologise to you willingly, because it put you in danger even if I hoped Enjolras could hide your tracks.”

“But... how come Montparnasse got his parole?”

“It was coming up in October anyway actually, moving the date to his advantage became part of the deal. I had my back against the wall.”

“I cannot accept your apology for that.”

“I understand,” the Warden said with sadness in his eyes. “And besides, my wife left me anyway because Montparnasse broke the deal and told her.”

“When?” both brothers asked.

“Last night. He sent my wife an incriminating video and photos... he was single-mindedly going for the money at all cost.” The Warden picked up his phone. Montparnasse had sent them to him, too. Scrolling through his albums, he got to the grainy ones that still left no doubt who the people were and what they were doing. Grantaire recognised himself in the picture with the Warden balls deep inside him. He didn't really need to see the video, too.

“Enjolras?” the Warden asked, but his brother didn’t want to see the evidence at all. He put the phone down on the table and folded his hands calmly waiting, as he directed his attention at Enjolras.

“So... both Grantaire and Montparnasse get granted parole almost simultaneously. You knew this but because of the blackmail you chose not to tell us?” Enjolras summed up, glowing like the fantastic lawyer he with no doubt was.

“Yes.”

“I still need to know how they found us. Did you tell...”

“He wanted access to my files, and since he had the advantage, I...”

“You showed him where I live so he could find Grantaire?”

“He wanted the money. I knew it wasn't at your address, Enjolras.”

“And how would you know that? You deliberately put our lives in danger,” Enjolras demanded.

“Lower your voice,” Grantaire reminded him and Enjolras inhaled deeply to get a grip.

“Fuck... How would you know?” he asked lower.

The Warden looked at Grantaire who looked back and nodded courtly. “Because Grantaire has told me where they are.”

“You what?!” Enjolras shouted and then lowered his voice, when the other patrons looked up to see what the fuss was all about. “You what?!” he repeated incredulous.

“In case I didn't survive prison hospitality, I wanted him to know where the money was. I can’t be convicted of the same crime twice and my leverage was that I could have exposed him for our ‘thing’.”

Enjolras closed his eyes and visibly struggled not to throttle Grantaire. “All right. I don't want to know about the money or where they are. It’s water under the bridge. Next point: You’ve done what you did, and that can’t be changed. You had reasons to act how you did, but the effect of those decisions ended up in my home.”

“So he came?” the Warden asked.

“He and his accomplice, yeah. Some hypermobile creep Montparnasse called Sousie,” Grantaire said.

“Fabien Claquesous,” the Warden said. “I knew about him. He and Montparnasse did some shady deals that lead to Montparnasse’s arrest.”

“So if you knew where the money was this entire time, why didn’t you just tell them and none of it would have happened?” Enjolras asked incredulous.

“And potentially have Grantaire come back and kill me?” the Warden said evenly and lifted an eyebrow.

“Right... you’re right,” Enjolras said and looked at the man.

“I’m sorry about your wife,” Grantaire said.

“No, you’re not,” the Warden said wryly.

“You’re right, I’m not.”

Next to him, Enjolras huffed amused and put his hand on Grantaire’s thigh a few seconds before he put it back on the table and refilled his cup.

“I think it might have happened anyway. I was procrastinating our problems and this just confirmed the inevitable,” the Warden said.

Enjolras sat up straighter and cursed when he burned his tongue on the fresh coffee batch. “Fuck... ow... but know this, Mr. Madeleine. They threatened _us_ ,” Enjolras said and then stopped to consider his next words. “We... overpowered them, and now they’re... gone.” He looked the Warden straight in the eye to force him to understand the sub context of the message.

“ _Gone_ gone?”

Enjolras didn’t move his head or in any other way indicate that he was right.

The Warden’s eyes slid to Grantaire’s who looked away. It was too intense for him. Thank god, Enjolras had insisted on going along anyway.

“And by ‘gone’, where is that?” the Warden asked quietly.

“Vanished. Just sort of happened. You don’t want to know the details,” Enjolras said and carefully took another sip. “One thing is certain though; you’ll never see them again, so I guarantee you that his parole officer will give you a call soon.”

“Duly noted,” the Warden said.

Enjolras sat for a few moments studying the Warden, when he suddenly grabbed the man’s phone.

The Warden started but said nothing.

“D’you really wanna see the pictures?” Grantaire asked.

“No, Grantaire. What I really want is to delete the recording your precious Mr. Madeleine made of this entire conversation...” His brother looked up at the Warden who didn’t even flinch. “You don't mind, right?” he asked diplomatically.

“No. Be my guest,” the Warden sighed and watched how Enjolras found the ongoing recording and deleted it from his phone. Grantaire had to literally close his mouth. It never even occurred to him for one second that the Warden would record their conversation.

“Is this the only recording?” Enjolras asked, his falcon look scanning the Warden’s body language for any discrepancy.

“It is. It was just for protection in case... I don't even know anymore.” The Warden got up and reached out for his phone which Enjolras gave him back. Dropping a handful of quid on the table to cover everyone’s bill, he indicated the meeting was over. “The money, Grantaire,” the Warden said quietly, “...is all yours. I was never going to touch it.”

“I don’t even think I want it anymore,” Grantaire said, surprising himself.

“Nevertheless, you should move it somewhere else.”

“No, he bloody well shalln’t,” Enjolras said and got up as well. “If he even breathes on it, I’ll book him myself and he’ll be back in your precious prison again.”

Grantaire’s hairs bristled at being told what to do – especially regarding the fucking money.

“Don’t fucking even...” Enjolras warned him under his breath. “And you, I hope never to see again,” he said as the Warden turned and left.

~• ɷ͋ •~

The brothers walked out of the coffee shop and steered for the parked Rover. Once they were seated, Enjolras turned his head as he secured his seatbelt. “Where is the money?” he asked looking at Grantaire.

Grantaire shook his head slowly and clapped. “That was an Oscar performance in there.”

“Thanks, I’ll accept on behalf of Robert Downey jr., if he promises me the leading role in the next Avengers but it’s probably not going to happen. Where is the money, Grantaire?”

Grantaire swallowed and decided to just tell him. “I put it in the floorboards of my rented flat.”

“Where is that?”

“Notting Hill.”

“Okay. Not exactly around the corner but...”

“I told the Warden I buried it in my mother’s grave.”

“What?!” Enjolras said his eyes huge from the bombshell. “But it’s been levelled years ago.”

“Obviously, he doesn’t know that.” Grantaire laughed. “Look, you’ve got goosebumps on your arms.”

“Yeah, I’ve got it all over,” Enjolras said taxiing the car into the street to start the journey back to the farm. 

“Sorry to shock you like that,” Grantaire chuckled as he secured his seatbelt.

“It’s not funny.”

“See that?” Grantaire pointed to a building as they passed it.

“The Debonair? What is that?”

“That’s the name of the hotel where I was supposed to check in. Guess they have them all over the place.”

“Well, I’m glad that never happened.”

They drove a few miles before Enjolras spoke again, “What are we going to do with the money?”

Grantaire snorted but he had been thinking about it already. “Initially, I was going to blow it just like you predicted; try spending some on it on the banal plans I had made like getting even with some of the accomplices who let me take the heat and so on. But it’s too soon to get it. Waiting a year is advisable.”

Nodding, Enjolras concurred that he heard what he was saying. “And how do you feel about the money now?”

“Everything has changed now. Now we could spend it on the farm. Get... yeah, realise that petting zoo?”

Enjolras scoffed, “You were serious about that?”

“Not a few days ago, but where I am now. Yeah. Let’s pimp the bloody farm and make the buildings bigger and add to the family.”

“Wooow...” Enjolras muttered as he shook his head. “Who are you and what did you do to my selfish brother?”

Grantaire looked into Enjolras’ smiling eyes, drank in the way the wind played with his curls, and finally said, “I guess I came home.”

End of tale 1. June 2020


End file.
